I really should be in bed. But life has forced me to neglect my blog. So I’m fighting back.
Lately, I’ve had horrible dreams. I’ve had dreams that remind me of a once very dominant reality. And that scares me. I’ve had dreams about someone I’ve worked very hard to forget. I’ve had dreams about things I’ve buried so far down in my heart that I nearly forgot they happened. Nightmares.
And these nightmares have gotten me thinking about things I’ve tried to forget. I wake up each morning unsettled and frightened. I wake up and have to remind myself that they are just dreams. But once upon a time… they were real.
And then that makes me wonder about the person I used to be. I was talking with K the other night about our high school memories, and she made a very good point. We are technically the same people. We are in the same body we were in then. This body drove those familiar roads everyday. This body walked those halls each day. We’re the same yet we’re so different.
I think back to high school, and I hardly recognize the person I was. I shiver at the decisions I made. I cringe at the directions my heart took me in. And I wonder if everyone has to go through things like that to make them who they are currently? I’m sure everyone does. Right?
Chapters. That’s how life can be broken down. Thankfully, my rebellious phase is a fairly short chapter relatively speaking. In the ultimate course of life, it’s a small drop in the bucket.
But if it’s such a short, small, insignificant chapter–why is it the seed for all of this? Why is it at the root of everything that hurts? Why is it what keeps the words pouring from my heart?
I think of all the teenage girls out there making the same mistakes I made back then. Falling for the wrong guy. Falling for someone who their mothers and best friends describe as dangerous. And it hurts my heart. I want so badly to save them all from a lifetime of questions and regret. But I can’t save them. All I can do is hopefully provide a source of comfort when they’ve realized their mistakes. And that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. That’s why I stay up way later than I should staring at a blinking cursor on a blank screen waiting for the right words to pour from my finger tips. that’s why.
I can’t prevent their nightmares. And I can’t change my nightmare. But I can use it. I can make something good of it.