I don’t remember the last time…

I remembered a dream – until this morning when I woke up. As vivid as reality, as surreal as only a dream can be - he came back into my life for just a moment. I felt nothing for him, even as he pulled me close and kissed me. I felt only sorrow and regret for being caught, mid-kiss that I did not initiate. Is it possible to ever fully get over your very first love? And if so, was that it?

Or has he just somehow crept back into my life through dreams, as I slowly start becoming me again? For years he seemed to pop back into my life either in person, or through dreams when I needed to forget him the most. It was almost as if, as soon it stopped hurting he was there again peeling a scab off a healing wound. But I have not hurt for him, longed for him, even really thought of him in years. Why should he come back now?

I read too deeply into things I guess. But I am one of those people who think everything, everything happens for a reason perhaps the reason for this is still just beyond my comprehension.

Anyway, the pills seem to be doing their job. Slowly I am finding myself more ambitious, more motivated to get the hell out of the house. I find myself with more energy and less ability to sleep during the day. I often wake up throughout the night, and find myself watching TV for a few hours before I can fall back asleep again. That could just be my body adjusting.

I miss my son terribly and almost feel as though I should go back to the UAE now. But I know that I am not nearly well enough to face the plastic world again, without falling back into that dreaded routine of insanity. I speak to my son often, and know he is doing well. Its hard to answer his simplest questions, like when am I coming home? Somehow, I think he will understand when he is old enough. At least I hope so.

Not really surprised

Misdiagnosed in Dubai, is not really a surprise. UAE does not have much when it comes to a psychiatric health industry and I got to learn that the hard way; from the hospitals literally running out of drugs mid-patients courses, to them over and under prescribing in seemingly-lethal combinations that often made me feel worse than better, or switching psychiatrists each and every time you go for an appointment so there is no real history of your condition or progress, other than a medical chart showing which meds you have been prescribed and which ones you have not. I pity the psychologically ill in the UAE.

What did surprise me was the fact that I did not reduce myself to tears at meeting this man. I was able to smile a little and laugh at his sarcasm when he mentioned the real chance I was given, as he took the brief of my history down into his notes. With no real role models, alcoholism, 4 fathers (3 of which abusive) and 2 mothers, sexual molestation, haunting me as I moved to the plastic city, I walked right into the nasty relationships with men, the abuse, further sexual assault, addictions, and so much more without even realizing it – I was never really given a chance. And though, I started to cry a little as he asked me what I really felt of myself, he was able to help me crack a smile again quick, when he questioned whether or not my mascara was waterproof. He was a decent older man; the type you can trust has the experience he has behind him simply by looking at his frail old body and silver hair.

Rather than having Bipolar tendencies as diagnosed in the UAE, I in fact have severe tendencies that signify two almost sister diagnoses, Clinical Depression and Borderline Personality Disorder. After reading up on both of these, they make a lot more sense and paint a far more accurate picture of what I am really going through and feeling.

I can not say that one hour with a sincere, educated, experienced Dr, who has already gone out of his way to help check my medical status and help me find a proper GP, let alone make me feel comfortable when talking to him, has induced any improvement; I do have a lot of hope in the medications he prescribed as well as the help he will offer me through future appointments. And I guess increased hope and positive thoughts can only do a person like me any good.

Vacation Over…

I woke up this morning from dreams about getting to my shrinks appointment today. I do not know what scares me more, the trip itself, getting lost in this city where everything feels like dejavu, or having to attempt to explain the last 26 years of my life, the years that made me what I am today, to a complete stranger in less than an hour.

Whatever it is, it’s the first step to finally getting over the haunting my own mind forces upon me, each and every day of my life. It’s been this way for as long as I can remember; incredible, unexplainable misery somewhere in the back of my mind, creeping through every moment of happiness, every smile; the need to isolate myself from the world; the destruction I cause myself over and over again that I can recognize but cannot seem to control; the obsessions I learn to love for some undefined amount of time then abandon in a moment as if they never existed; the self-doubt; the fear of me; the destructive relationships with people as messed up as I am.

At least here in the west I have hope. There is real hope on every corner, with every sincere strangers face. It’s almost like each and every one of them are wearing their hearts on their sleeves just struggling to make it each day, like everyone else. Here, daemons don’t seem to hide behind perfect make-up, designer clothing, and layers of lies so thick the host can’t even see through them anymore. Here, people are real. And if I ever want to get back to the world of plastic people to be with my son, I need to learn to be real with me again.

So, today, I take that first real step. I guess the vacation is over for now.