A Bad Dream

So this morning, I woke up in a horrible fright. I had the worst dream a mother can imagine.

In my dream I was crying, apparently my daughter had died in a school related bus accident along with her friend. (In my dream the friend was unnamed, but in my head looked like her friend Siani from Girl Scouts) I was moving down the long street in my old neighborhood where I grew up. I felt like I was riding on something, but I don't know what. Every time I would pass a little girl bike or playhouse, I would cry some more. I decided to go to the church that my daughter loved so much. When I got there, it looked like a cafeteria from a school. In the far right corner were some dumpsters and to the left their were cafeteria style  folding tables that were set up like benches in a row and along the side row of benches, there were shopping carts with balloons tied to them. On the balloons were pictures of the two girls. I still don't know if there were more than the 2 balloons, but I feel like they were repeating the images down the row. I cried, "My daughter!" I went over and somehow I was sitting down and my daughter was sitting in front of me talking to me about her passing. She was telling me how God had taken her from me to teach me a lesson and that I should appreciate him. Other than a few scenes where I was crying behind the dumpster and replaying the scene with my daughter, I don't remember much else after this except having to use the restroom...and so I woke up.


It took a few minutes after waking for it to sink in that I had lost my daughter in the dream. So immediately after finishing in the bathroom, I went to her room. She has this decorative netting that goes around her bed, like a princess, but when I walked in the room, it was wrapped around her like a blanket. I carefully removed it and draped it back over the foot of her bed and I just stood there and watched to make sure she was breathing. Of course she was, it was only a dream after all.

I hate religion, and this is a good example of why. I believe there is something out there that contributed to our existence on the planet Earth. I don't know what, who, or how but I believe that science will find the answer one way or another. But I have a hard time accepting that there is this "one true God" who will punish you for not believing in him. Taking away your loved ones to teach you of his existence to me would be counter productive. Because although you might believe in him, you would resent him forever. I also don't comprehend how everyone says, "God is a merciful God." Only to be banished to the fires of Hell for misdeeds  and lack of repentance. I am a good, nice, and honest person. I try to love and care for everyone equally. I try to always do the right thing, because I feel bad when I don't. I am sure my dream stemmed from a whole slew of religious post I saw on Facebook right before going to bed. Plus the massive headache I've had for almost 2 days could have been playing tricks on me. Or even a combination of both. All I know is that I am alive and so are my children. But what a fucked up way to wake up.

A week off ?

Hello and welcome.

I have not written anything in a while because I have been kind of busy with the crazy, hectic rigmarole that is my Summer break with the kids. Until this past week that is.

Getting ready to board the bus. Water bottle
and hat did not make the return trip home.

One week ago today, my daughter left me for a week to go to summer camp. On Tuesday, I went to see the movie "Rock of Ages" with an old friend. Wednesday I took my grandma to the doctor and I spent Thursday afternoon drinking with another old friend. Other than that, my schedule was miraculously clear of any obligations. So what to do with myself and all this "spare time." I decided to dig through my old video games and replay "The Longest Journey." As it turns out, I have been unable to make my old, antiquated, 2 disc copy work on Windows 7 64-bit. Although, while digging through boxes to find my beloved game, I came across my old diaries dating all the way back to December 31, 1990. Reading through, I realized that there is a strong possibility that there may, or may not, be some significant information in there to help my doctors settle on a more concrete diagnosis for my mental condition. So begins my new project of transcribing all of my journal entries to document files on my computer so that they are in chronological order (I discovered that I did not tend to stay on the correct page when writing, luckily I did date each entry - however the lack of order will be annotated on the transcribed pages for relevance, if there is any.) and easily handed over to whichever doctors are willing to read them. I am actually only about three months in and I have realized that I don't even like reading through my own mind, let alone remembering and reliving it. I have, of course stopped. I don't want to continue. I need to continue. I was definitely a terrible person, a terrible writer, and an especially terrible speller. It makes my head hurt. In fact something I noticed when flipping through old journals was that at some point during my third pregnancy, I stopped writing. So now I'm going to change the subject.

My less than happy, slightly ill daughter with her pillow

Come Friday afternoon, it was time to pick up my daughter from the bus. I waited impatiently as one bus after another arrived and none of them was the one my daughter was on. Finally, and not really late (thought I felt like it had been forever), The bus arrives. When my daughter steps off the bus, I can see that she is feeling VERY ill. You see, she suffers from motion sickness and takes OTC generic Dramamine for long trips. The problem is, the camp personnel do not seem to see the importance or significance in giving her this medicine more than 2 minutes prior to stepping on the bus even though the bottle clearly states to take one hour prior to travel. Ah, the pleasures of letting other people care for your children. Now, I know that I write more about my daughter than anyone. Maybe because she is more active than my other 2 children. But if you read through my past posts, you will see that I have a son with Autism and a son with "undiagnosed something" who gets hit by cars frequently. I love them all. But in honest, full disclosure, I always wanted a little girl. I wanted to be able to dress her up, do her hair, and hang out and do mother/daughter things. Just the two of us. And instead, it's the four of us and the boys have mental issues like me. That doesn't fall into my fairy tale of what having children was supposed to be. So for now, I'm going to sign off. I don't know when I'll post again, but thank you for reading. I love you just for being here.


P.S. TheBloggess, Jenny Lawson is Awesome! You help me navigate my way through my own brain.