these dreams

"These dreams go on when I close my eyes. Every second of the night, I live another life..."
-Heart

Last night, two other lives. Neither of which I want to live.

Let me back up. Obviously, I didn't blog yesterday despite my Lent commitment. I'm not going to beat myself up about it because 1) I don't have the energy for that and 2) I think it's more righteous to "try harder next time" than to give up because I didn't measure up to some rigid but arbitrary goal I set for myself. That being said, I didn't forget to blog yesterday... but by the time I was done with everything else I had to do, I just couldn't make myself do it. It's been a really, really, exhausting couple of school/work days. I had only done one intake interview all semester, but I had to do two of them on the same day (Tuesday), and just that little extra time and effort kind of sent me over the edge. Being on the go for 12+ hours a day--especially in this environment where I feel like every move I make is going to be evaluated--is just too much for me. When I got home from school yesterday (and by school, I mean work, lunch, clinic paperwork, research meeting, dinner, yoga, supervision, more paperwork), I was completely spent. I can't remember being this exhausted for a long time. I didn't take any time to decompress or reflect or chill out or pray or even talk to Alexander. I just collapsed onto my bed.

Oh, how I wish I hadn't done that. I had horrible dreams. And I hardly ever have bad dreams. I dreamed, basically, that I was one of my clients. I was still me, but I was experiencing some really stressful interpersonal things that my new client is currently experiencing. I woke up at 3 a.m. (I don't think I've done that since I've been thyroid-less) and was exahusted, but so relieved that "it was just a dream." It took me quite a while to go back to sleep (again, hasn't happened since 2007, I don't think), and when I did go back to sleep, it got worse. In the next dream, I started having a horribly traumatic experience that my other client experienced as a kid. I can't even bring myself to say out loud (or type out loud) what it was. I woke up at 6 feeling more mentally exhausted than I was when I went to sleep.

Clearly, this is not a good situation. Therapists should not be unconsciously experiencing their clients' trauma. It might seem like I have no boundaries and can't leave therapy in therapy like I should. But really, I'm pretty good at that, usually, because I spend waking time reflecting about it so that I can put it away and move on. I've actually been pretty pleased with my ability to do that so far in my "career" as a therapist. I guess it's easy for me, because I naturally take time to reflect, which actually helps these sort of thoughts not to follow me around when I don't want them to. I give them attention when they need it (which is usually right after sessions or in this case, supervision), and then I file them away for next week. But my fatigue stopped me from doing that. The last thing I did yesterday was talk to my supervisor about my clients (and then get their paperwork in order.) Since I didn't have my normal decompression time, all that crap was still floating around unresolved, so it showed up in the worst way possible.

One positive: I have a whole new level of empathy for what these clients have experienced.

Another positive: I have a whole new appreciation for the importance of "self care" as it relates to clinical work. It is so, so important for me not to get so exhausted that I don't have time to chill out.

Lord, come quickly. And bring Spring Break with you.

saturday in the park...

I have a vague sense that I have a lot to say, but my mind feels a little...nebulous? So this post will probably be a bit disjointed.

Yet another wedding weekend has come and gone. My friend/academic hero, Scott, got married on Saturday, and it was a very beautiful wedding. It was fun to see several people who I hadn't seen in a while, particularly Dustin, another Emory psychology buddy, who I hadn't talked to for probably a year, and had missed a lot more than I realized. I also was quite blessed by some encouraging words from Kevin, which made me feel good about myself. He's such a sweetheart. Sadly, Sarah, Jodie, and I had to leave the reception much earlier than we would've liked because we (mostly Sarah) had such a long drive ahead of us, and from what I've heard, we missed out on a great deal of fun. Still, it was a great time, and I'm really glad I got to go. It was wonderful to spend time with Jodie and Sarah too. They're both M.Div. students, and I love getting to hear their conversations about theology. I feel like I'm constantly trying to latch onto their ideas and insights, which is exciting and challenging and fun, not to mention helpful, what with the spiritual rut I've been in. It's wonderful to be around people who are both passionate and deeply thoughtful about their faith, and such interaction has been a rarity for me as of late, it seems. It was also very fun (and weird, I must admit) to hear Jodie talk about married life. It's still seems crazy to me that I have friends who are married, and spending the night with them was especially surreal. I ended the weekeend by worshipping at Duke Chapel, which was an absolutely wonderful experience. I've been to cathedrals all over Europe, but I had never acutally been to a church service in one, and it was utterly thrilling. The huge size of it was such a powerful reminder of the sheer big-ness of the Almighty God.

"...how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ." (Ephesians 3:18)

It's kind of strange coming home after these little trips. When I'm with my friends, I feel like I'm part of the world they live in, and they are real, live, adults, so I fee like I am too, until I get in the car to drive home... to my parents' house...where I live...which makes me feel like a child. I'm just in a strange place in my life, I guess, mostly because my current situation doesn't fit neatly into any sort of defined and agreed-upon category. There just isn't a label for a 20-something, intelligent, college-graduate who temporarily lives with her parents and (also temporarily) doesn't have a job, so I feel like I'm floating around somewhere between the shores of adult and child. I never liked labels anyway.

My dreams have been interesting lately. A certain someone who I thought I had finally stopped dreaming about has started showing up again, and it's kind of pissing me off. Also, not long ago, a celebrity was featured in one of my dreams for the first time, and it's been happening fairly frequently ever since. Last night, Morgan Freeman and Miley Cyrus. I don't know what that's about, but it's rather amusing.

I think I had more to talk about, but my brain is tired. Happy [...I think it was the] 4th of July.

jealous of the moon?

I just wanted to write once more before I leave for the beach. We may have internet there, but I'm certain of that, and I'm not sure I'll have time to use it even if we do. I'm all packed and ready to go to the beach, and I'm pretty darn excited. Things have continued to be good. I got my dress back today, and while it still doesn't fit the way I'd really like it to, I can wear it, so it will do. Dallas got great medical news yesterday, and he's now allowed to two exciting things: shower and DRIVE. It's hugely exciting that he's more able to function independently now. I can't even imagine how awful it would be to have to depend on people for transportation (and hair washing), especially when you're an excessively independent person by nature. So this is fantastic news and makes me quite happy. And I got to hang out with him in celebration, which was fun. I need as much Dallas time as I can get while I still live here, which is not for much longer (though how long exactly, I still don't know.) I'll probably start having withdrawal when I get home, but I'll worry about that then instead of now. ;)

On a totally different note, I haven't mentioned in here that I (obsessively, you might say) write down, interpret, and organize my dreams. I've been doing it since I took Personality Theories, one of my favorite psychology classes, freshman year. Dream interpretation has been probably the most instrmental tool for self-awareness that I have experienced, and, to top it off, it's wicked fun. With time, I've gotten pretty good at interpreting my (not necessarily others') dreams, but last night I had a very interesting one that I have not quite figured out. In terms of theme, it is clearly related to the jealousy situation that I mentioned a while back, but the people involved are different. I am having trouble determining whether (a) the people in the dream are stand-ins for the real-life people or (b) the people in the dream are actually the ones involved in my jealousy, and the real-life people I thought were involved are actually the result of some sort of mental displacement. Because, in a way, I would prefer to be jealous of the person I thought I was jealous of, rather than this alternative person, but it makes slightly more sense that I'm jealous of this dreamed person, but had a harder time admitting it, and unconsciously changed it to this other person. It seems plausible, as the related situations are, in a way, parallel. Sort of. Maybe just in my head, but that's where this jealousy (and the dream) is anyway. So yeah... my unconscious is either messing with me or telling me something very enlightening. Now to figure out which one.

Again, on a totally different note (have you noticed I suck at transition sentences?), I have become a bit ADHD with my reading habits. Usually, in the summer, when I finish a book, I immediately have another waiting for me which I immediately start reading, and so on, and the process continues all summer (or in this case, probably longer.) But I messed it all up this time. Before I read The Mother Tongue, I had been on an Augusten Burroughs kick. It was more of an addiction, really, such that I even had a dream (ah... this should have been my transition!) that I met him. I was introduced to his writing in the fall when I had to choose a memoir or autobiography to use for a term paper. I read Running with Scissors and wrote a paper about how I'd treat Augusten as a client, using the existential theory of my beloved Viktor Frankl. I pretty much fell in love with this book and felt that my life would be utterly incomplete if I did not promptly read everything else this genius of a man wrote. So when I started reading this summer (as soon as I was well enough to pay attention to read anything, basically), I read Possible Side Effects and Magical Thinking. Then, and only because I went to the terribly-organized Walden Books at home to get my next helping of Burroughs-ness, and I couldn't find Dry and didn't want to ask for help (because I hate asking for help in stores... and in life), I took a break from Augusten to spend some quality time with Mr. Bill Bryson. I intended for this hiatus to be only one book in length, but then I finished The Mother Tongue and had nothing on hand to read. My mom was with me on the back porch (my favorite reading spot) when this happened, and I said to her that I should've planned further ahead and bought another book to start reading. I was feeling urgent, as if every moment I spent not reading was wasted. It was making me anxious. My mom reminded me that I had a book upstairs that I hadn't read yet, which, strangely enough, I bought at the same time as Running with Scissors, as an alternative memoir, in case the first choice didn't work for the purposes of the paper. I was not excited about reading this book, because in my head, I had planned that Dry would be next on my reading list. I missed Augusten. But I begrudgingly went upstairs to fetch The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls (whoever that is, I thought) and began reading. I read a few pages, and it was mildly interesting, but I still missed Augusten. Then, when I got back to the apartment the other day, I realized that I bought On the Road by Jack Kerouac ages ago, for cheap, and had also yet to read it. So last night, I picked it up and started reading, hoping to be more satisfied. I like it, and I think Jack and I can be friends, but it just wasn't filling the void. I needed Augusten. So tonight, I went to Barnes and Noble and bought Dry. It was very irresponsible, as I am already reading two books, and possibly a bit pathological, suggesting that I am, in fact, addicted to Augusten Burroughs. My excuse is that the DSM-IV has no diagnosis for author-related dependence, so I'm ok. I haven't started reading yet, but I feel immensely better just knowing that at any moment, Augusten and I can be reunited (and it feels so good.) So yeah... instead of a beach book, I have three.

But really, as much I love Augusten (and if you haven't gotten this, it's a lot), I love my old neighborhood buddies even more, so I'm probably not going to want to take time away from them, even to spend reading Dry. I am increasingly excited about seeing old friends this week...and then not-as-old ones this weekend. It's going to be wonderful. I just can't wait.