"Speaking comes by nature, silence by understanding."
Someone I love has been having a rough time lately. Its so hard to know what to do or say and even harder to know when the time is right for either.
On top of that I've been having some really weird dreams. Such as having to sweep up piles and piles and piles of dirty kitty litter; and everyone else in the dream but me seeming just a bit daft.
I don't really understand the dream, but it became clear to me after a bruhaha with my Dad that anger might be the connecting thread.
It's hard to guess why a teenager who lives like a princess would be so angry. Then I started looking at my own life instead of pointing fingers at someone else's. I remembered the girl I was at 14 and remembered how angry I felt. Then I remembered being 15 and being tied to my bed and locked in a psychiatric ward. Then I remembered more, and more and more.
I wrote it all down in the form of a letter. Turns out I needed to write it for me, though I'm still not sure why.
After 24 hours and few revisions, I realized I was talking to my inner teenager. The one who was so mad and hurt, and yes, scared, back then. As I ask the question today, why are you so angry, I find my answers are found somewhere back around 1968. The first time I was angry - no. But the first time I was diagnosed with clinical depression ... anger turned inward.
Bring it back around to the present day and trying to communicate with my father. I'm 57 yet often feel as belittled, confused and unheard as the young girl who struggled so with feeling less than.
So what does it all have to do with kitty litter? In the dream, when I was sweeping and shoveling these mountains of cat poo my dad, who thought he was being helpful, started to hose the litter-filled rooms down. Got any idea what happens to clay-encrusted turds that are soaked with water? Right, they turn into concrete turds - an even bigger mess.
Is that what happens when I try to talk about my "feelings" with a man who only knows how to talk about "thoughts"? When I attempt to express my anger does my dad's logic hose down the emotion and turn it into something I don't recognize, making me question ME not him?
Is this how dreams work?
I won't send the letter, even though I'm pretty sure it could win a Pulitzer Prize. It's way too long and wordy and rational for a girl who wants to be "heard" not preached to. But I'm glad I wrote it, because I think the teen it was really meant for got the message. A few years late, but better late than never.
Isn't life weird?