exactly what I need to get back a sense of control. I spot a woman across the street – standing, not moving – with the same platinum blond hair that I have. I gaze in a trance-like state, until a bus goes by and her image disappears.
At that moment, I realize I am still naked, and even though this feels quite natural, I try to cover myself with my hands as I dash upstairs to find my discarded nightshirt on the floor by the bed. Andrew is back in under the covers, his chest rising and falling with each breath and I have this thought about what it would be like to wrap my hands around his throat and wait for the inevitable shroud of death to surround him. I shake myself from that fucked up thought, not believing that I would do such a thing.
I slip back into the nightshirt, climb into bed, and curl my frame around my boyfriend. If I’m not mistaken, the pounding in my ears was coming from the beating of his heart; it’s so loud that I have to concentrate to calm myself down. Taking a few deep breaths, I go through a variety of techniques that my therapist has taught me. Before long, I am again sound asleep, and this time, my dreams are tame in comparison. When I finally wake, my boyfriend is already in the shower.
He doesn’t say much all through breakfast, no doubt trying to forget what happened. Kissing me at the door, he carries his briefcase out to his silver Mercedes and drives out of sight. Andrew looks like he hasn’t slept a good night since he met me, and I feel responsible for putting him through this kind of hell. The clock chimes 8:00 AM. I knew I only have about 30 minutes to get ready for one of my tedious therapy sessions.
*
“Gail, do you suppose that you’re feeling this way because you’re different from every one around you? I don’t think I know of an African American woman that has almost pure white platinum hair, unless, of course, you take Storm from the X-Men into account. Ordinarily, people tend to shy away from things that they don’t understand; this is especially true to things and people who are different. You might be just projecting this into your dreams, always having to fight prejudice and people that have this need to put you down.” My therapist Monica was making sense, and it was possible I was just feeling out of sorts by people who didn’t understand me.
“We’ve been through this over and over again, and each time the dream is the exact same as the previous one. I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams, like there’s something inside me trying to break free.” I hadn’t gotten much out of these sessions; except, for the fact that I was able to tell somebody what I thought and felt. Even my boyfriend, Andrew has only seen a small inkling of what I had been feeling as of late. At least with Monica, I had somebody that didn’t judge me, or make me feel like I was going completely around the bend.
“I can see this is really bothering you, but you can’t help what other people think. All we can do is accept ourselves for who we are, and basically damn anyone that doesn’t like it. This waking dream that causes you to sleepwalk must be very hard on you and your relationship with Andrew. It might be time to bring him in on this, and maybe you should both be here talking about this at length. I’ve mentioned to you about going under hypnosis, but so far you have been reluctant to even consider it. Having him here might be exactly what you need to give you the courage to go through with it. His support will allow you to delve into your subconscious and hopefully come back with answers.” I glance over towards where she was sitting, her thick horn-rimmed glasses on the edge of her nose and her pen moving very quickly across the pages of the notebook.
“I might have to give hypnosis a try because I am at my wit’s end. I’m not even sure how long I’m up at night, only that I become fully alert around 6:00 AM somewhere else in the house. It’s a little
At that moment, I realize I am still naked, and even though this feels quite natural, I try to cover myself with my hands as I dash upstairs to find my discarded nightshirt on the floor by the bed. Andrew is back in under the covers, his chest rising and falling with each breath and I have this thought about what it would be like to wrap my hands around his throat and wait for the inevitable shroud of death to surround him. I shake myself from that fucked up thought, not believing that I would do such a thing.
I slip back into the nightshirt, climb into bed, and curl my frame around my boyfriend. If I’m not mistaken, the pounding in my ears was coming from the beating of his heart; it’s so loud that I have to concentrate to calm myself down. Taking a few deep breaths, I go through a variety of techniques that my therapist has taught me. Before long, I am again sound asleep, and this time, my dreams are tame in comparison. When I finally wake, my boyfriend is already in the shower.
He doesn’t say much all through breakfast, no doubt trying to forget what happened. Kissing me at the door, he carries his briefcase out to his silver Mercedes and drives out of sight. Andrew looks like he hasn’t slept a good night since he met me, and I feel responsible for putting him through this kind of hell. The clock chimes 8:00 AM. I knew I only have about 30 minutes to get ready for one of my tedious therapy sessions.
*
“Gail, do you suppose that you’re feeling this way because you’re different from every one around you? I don’t think I know of an African American woman that has almost pure white platinum hair, unless, of course, you take Storm from the X-Men into account. Ordinarily, people tend to shy away from things that they don’t understand; this is especially true to things and people who are different. You might be just projecting this into your dreams, always having to fight prejudice and people that have this need to put you down.” My therapist Monica was making sense, and it was possible I was just feeling out of sorts by people who didn’t understand me.
“We’ve been through this over and over again, and each time the dream is the exact same as the previous one. I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams, like there’s something inside me trying to break free.” I hadn’t gotten much out of these sessions; except, for the fact that I was able to tell somebody what I thought and felt. Even my boyfriend, Andrew has only seen a small inkling of what I had been feeling as of late. At least with Monica, I had somebody that didn’t judge me, or make me feel like I was going completely around the bend.
“I can see this is really bothering you, but you can’t help what other people think. All we can do is accept ourselves for who we are, and basically damn anyone that doesn’t like it. This waking dream that causes you to sleepwalk must be very hard on you and your relationship with Andrew. It might be time to bring him in on this, and maybe you should both be here talking about this at length. I’ve mentioned to you about going under hypnosis, but so far you have been reluctant to even consider it. Having him here might be exactly what you need to give you the courage to go through with it. His support will allow you to delve into your subconscious and hopefully come back with answers.” I glance over towards where she was sitting, her thick horn-rimmed glasses on the edge of her nose and her pen moving very quickly across the pages of the notebook.
“I might have to give hypnosis a try because I am at my wit’s end. I’m not even sure how long I’m up at night, only that I become fully alert around 6:00 AM somewhere else in the house. It’s a little
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