Friday, March 6, 2009

Foreboding Dreams And Depression

"Is it cloak and dagger, could it be Spring or Fall?
I Walk without a cut through a stained-glass wall.
Weaker in my eyesight, a candle in my grip,
And words that have no form are falling from my lips." — Dreams, Heart

I woke up today uncontrollably crying
And I don't know why
And I don't know ....

I lived for the world and it didn't live for me
And I don't know why
And I don't know ....

The things I had dreampt I couldn't see in my mind
Couldn't see in my mind
Couldn't see it ....

I'm not sure how, but I let the dream die
And I let it die
And I let it.

The dreams that I had was for others to be
It wasn't for me
No it wasn't ....

So how many times can you cry in your sleep?


I can't remember the dream but I let the dream die
Let the dream die
And I let it ....

And I don't know how, how I got down this far
How I got down so far
How I got down ....

* * * * * * *
The above was lyrics to a song I spontaneously wrote in my head on Tuesday morning when (as the song indicates) I woke up uncontrollably crying. Typically I'm not one given to tears when I'm awake. In fact, I don't really like emotions much as they're unwieldy – that and my upbringing from my macho dad who instructed me never to cry and to "be a man." The "man" part didn't work, but the emotion controls did for the most part. As a result I do occasionally cry in my sleep.

However this time was different: I could not remember what it was I'd dreampt that was that depressing! Usually I have at least a vague recollection of the last piece of the dream when that happens. This time, nothing but a blank ... plus the sobs ... and me trying to remember, but getting nothing but the song lyrics coming out of me. It was totally bizarre. It also left me depressed for the remainder of this week.

Is it green? Is it red?
Is it alive or is it dead?
I can't put my finger on it." — I Can't Put My Finger On It, Ween

There's probably an explanation in this, though it's latent at the moment. Maybe that's a self-defense mechanism? Even more bizarre, I was talking with another activist friend, Ethan St. Pierre, last night and he related he had the same type of dream not a week earlier: waking up crying from a dream he couldn't remember, feeling like he'd had his "heart ripped out."

I don't know what this means, but it intensifies this sense of foreboding I've had for a while. The thing is, I can't tell if it's foreboding over the global economic drainpipe we're swirling down, the indignation of being a trans activist and dealing with apathetic or antipathic gay and lesbian political leadership over just the most basic of our rights or the frustration at the self-serving deception encouraged by the current political environment and how we're oftentimes some of our own main detractors.

My lobbying trip to Austin was sorta fun, and mostly positive in the lobbying end of it. There were frustrations with the GLBT organization running it: Equality Texas, which I'll write about in another post. Something I agreed to hold off on smacked me as another of the empty promises I'd been fooled with eight years ago when the Hate Crimes bill in Texas passed without trans. Maybe my gut sense is telling me something on that.

One thing I've certainly sensed is that something's about to happen, and it is not going to be something we'll celebrate. I only wish I knew specifically what.

"These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside ...
Every moment I'm awake,
The further I'm away." — Dreams, Heart

1 comment:

Polar said...

I've been feeling as you have, that there's a shoe about to drop that won't be what we either expect or welcome. At this point, I am choosing to judge all legislation by a fine-toothed-combed reading, and not by hype, and whatever hill dashes I do will be based on what's filed (well, that and my ability to walk the Hill for a day)