Saturday, July 8, 2017
I’ve been meditating on the strange dream involving the dying woman. Since doing so, I have figured out that she was in a mental asylum. That was the building I was seeing. The rectangular marks on her arms were the straps that had been on her limbs, the blood was from the experiments. I can see the pain in her eyes, the betrayal and abandonment, the lonely road she walked till the end, and I walk as a phantom among the unmarked gravestones where she was buried, nameless, unremembered. Her suffering a drop in an ocean that never came to fruition or justice. She won’t be remembered, because her family erased the memory of her, and the institution never kept the papers. My wanderings didn’t produce any, at the very least. I haven’t quite reached the understanding of why she was there. I only know it was a long time of suffering, practically her whole adulthood, from what I can tell. I feel connected to her, and I’m trying to figure it out. Strangely, I know how she feels. I remember the fear I felt, in much less severe circumstances. The laying around, waiting in shock, not knowing myself. The shaking as my reality became all too real. The vomiting and screaming as the walls closed in. I felt like a bird, trapped and punished for something I didn’t understand. I knew I’d done bad, but…why must the punishment be so harsh. Looking in the mirror, and wondering if I was just crazy, whether I knew I was in my own reality or not. The fear, the deep fear, the wanting to die, and the disconnect. The loneliness and the isolation, extreme isolation from anyone I knew. There were moments of respite, when I met someone I knew or heard a familiar voice, but I still felt alone. My suffering was something they could not understand. How can one understand the suffering that comes about when your own mind betrays you, or rather when people are telling you that it has…but you feel…confused? Whirling shapes and colors in your mind, the desire to shrink and disappear from the world. The cage, with all its isolation and fear. And then, you figure out how to get out of your trap. But, sometimes, as in the case of the woman, it ended in her death. I’ve always wondered why I had such a severe reaction to my experience. Maybe…but no…that’s crazy. Then people will think I’m mentally insane at an entirely new level. No, I will keep my thoughts to myself. All I know is, I understand the woman, I feel her pain and anger, and I wish I could tell her that I remember her suffering, even if no one else knows. I wish I could speak life to what she was, bring her being into the recognition she deserved for her pain. But, her story is forever erased from the pages of history. Lost in the mists of time. I don’t even know her name, and I think I never will.