I remember this dream vividly. Not a dream. Maybe a nightmare. Or a vision of my current state.
I was driving down a steep road. Houses stood erect on both sides. People were walking, jogging, skipping towards their fated destination. The grass was green. The air was fresh. The sky, blue. I was driving on a good day.
Two blocks down, I hit an intersection. To my right were two friends. Well, two people I used to know. How they knew each other was a mystery, but my mind didn’t mind. It was a good day.
The stoplight said “go”, but I hesitated to move forward. Instead, I took a left. I wanted to see what else was out there.
Driving along, the sky began to cry. The roads signaled hazardous. I didn’t pay attention. I sped up.
I remember waking up in a pit. How I got there is a mystery. At first, I was alone. And then I wasn’t.
The children aged 6 to 8 formed two straight lines. Each one climbed their way out of the pit. As they mustered the strength to pull themselves together and out, they began to grow. Each of them left the pit as adults. Successful looking adults.
The rain muddied the pit. My shirt turned white to brown. The ropes became loose threads.
Then it was my turn to climb. Deep inside, I knew I could do it. And so I readied myself for the ascent and wrapped my hands around the ropes.
For every tug, the threads tore. And then with strength, I pulled only to find myself back in. After a few tries, I lost my strength. And then I tried again, and found myself back in the pit.
Tired and lost, I sat and cried. Exhausted and hopeless, I screamed and cursed.
I woke up the next day still in the pit. And there I stayed for uncountable days. Then I found peace in the pit. Then I just wanted to stay.
I woke up breathing heavily on my bed with the comforter keeping me warm. But inside I felt cold.
I still don’t want to find peace in the pit.