....

[Feb. 24th, 2007|11:31 pm]
misdiagnosed, mismedicated, mistreated
for everthing i did wrong, i was labeled with diseases
do not try and tell me what to feel
do not try and tell me what is real

Last night I had a dream I babysat a child, a young 6-7 year old me. I don't consider this to be a regular dream, but a connection with the past rather. Details of the child that I never thought I would have in front of my face or perfectly recalled again came back to me. Her mannerisms, the shape of her face and limbs, her voice, even every detail of the raggy outfit she wore (that I never recalled owning until just then) were perfectly reproduced last night. I don't think she recognized me. At first the child was very shy, responding timidly when spoken to. It was instinctual to know the right words to say, and soon I had her opening up to me in a way that was one of the most emotional experiences I've had in ages. The child spoke to me about her life. She described school, and how difficult it was for her to connect with other children. It hurt her when she was teased or shunned. She was a mute upon school grounds. She named a few people she felt a bond with, mainly teachers. When I asked her about her family, she mentioned that last night she was dropped on a rock by her father when she was drunk. She showed me her bruised foot, the reasoning behind her limp. This was an incident that escaped my mind until that moment. She told me her parents loved her and her sister alot, but used disciplinary acts of violence against her. Her mother used mainly wooden spoons and belts. Her father used a belt, but more rarely than her mother. She told me it hurt her more when her father was angry and hurt her than her mother, because her father seemed to show no remorse for her pain. It scared her to see him angry, when he trashed the house and broke things. Daddy set a fire on a camping trip, burned all our stuff up, she said. I remembered that day and how I lost trust for him. Regardless, she loved her parents, as well as her sister, all very dearly. The child felt alienated from the rest of the world. She couldn't connect with kids, adults saw her merely as a child. It was only in the program for prodigies and gifted students that she felt a connection and was able to openly speak and let her creativity run freely. She shared other details of her life, of her first crush, of her sister and her's creative play and games. She let me brush her hair, which brown, far down her back, and pin straight. Some of the things she said took me by surprise, others I recalled in pain or joy. Some things lead me to tears, and as the sun outside the window started to set, I told her it was time for me to leave. I woke up with tears on my pillow.

I can't say I recall having a dream as a child of having spent time with a young woman (current me). This dream stirred alot of rememberance of who I was as a child and helped me contemplate who I am today.

I look at myself today and compare it to the me that I spent time with in my dream. I was once a small tanned girl, a blank canvas posessing the powers of genius but trapped in the body of a child, underexposed to the culture and art that would feul me to become who I am today. Even then, I could see the chaos burning behind her eyes. Somewhere along the lines, my bipolar symptoms became more prominent. I was trapped in bouts of depression for many years of my life from the age of nine on. It wasn't till the age of fourteen that I felt my first hypomanic episode, where I learned I had the capability to unleash a power of endurance and creativity that was the backbone of my existence. I wish I could tell the girl and have her understand, one day you will realize you have more power than you think you can encompass. Confusion will become productive. Suffering will free you.