Tales.of.Swanky

I have this dream sometimes.

In general, I like telling people about my dreams. They are always weird, linear, and often insightful. I think if I ever write an honest to god autobiography, it'll be nothing but a collection of the dreams I've had in my life. They tell more about me than I could ever capture on my own.

I never talk about this dream. I'm essentially a coward, and this dream just highlights that fact so much.

For every person I have ever met there is at least one thing that I desperately want to say to them that I never will. I know I will never say these things because I know I couldn't face the fall out, and as much of a coward as I am, I'm not one for running away.

In the dream, I say them all.

I tell Francine that our friendship really ended when she left me in my room to tear myself apart.

I tell Tony that the girl who loved him, unconditionally and uncontrollably, slowly drowned in his disinterest, fighting to find the surface and gasping in every breath of hope he offered for ten years. I tell him I hate him for refusing to let me die for so long.

I tell Marita not to make the same mistake my mother made.

I tell my mother that no matter how hurt and scared I was, waiting for her to come help me and never getting what I needed, I'd still wait for her now. That I hate myself for not being able to learn from my mistakes.

I tell my father that while I know he loves his kids, he's never really been present as a father.

I tell my brother that I am more proud of him than I ever thought possible, even as a child when I felt he hung the sun.

I tell my sister that as much as I love her now, there was a time when I hated her just for existing, for having what I knew I never would.

I tell Wendy that I hope when she is old and alone, that she looks back on her life and realizes the gifts she was given and how she turned them all away.

I tell Jessi that she has been a gift. That knowing that I am still capable of thinking of what I can do to bring happiness to another person without completely sacrificing myself has saved me in so many ways.

I tell Meghan that life is not fair, and that you do not get what you deserve. That you fight, with brutal intensity, just to get what you need. That if you fight hard enough, either you win or you break, and there is no telling which until it happens.

I tell Laura not to hide herself away so much, that she's only going to become me, hiding in plain sight with no idea how to stop.

I tell Alicia that she didn't deserve me, that she'd have been so much better off without me at all. I apologize for screwing that up.

I tell Arline that she's not helping her daughter, that never being taught how to tell the truth is so crippling that she will never overcome it on her own.

I tell Mary Jean that I'm gay, just to see the look on her face.

I tell Jeffery that I'm sorry I didn't invite his fiance to my birthday party, but I wasn't strong enough at the time to face my own mother.

I tell Denise that she was the older sister I never had, and no matter how stupid she may have been, how fucked up her life and the lives of those who loved her became, I wouldn't have traded her for anything in the world.

I tell Michelle that she was the older sister I should have had, and that I never regretted that until I had to be one myself.

I tell Eric that he is a better man than he had any right to be.

I tell Christopher that he has a chance to fix what went so wrong for him, no matter what his girlfriend's family may try.

I tell Laura that I was always jealous of what she had that I didn't, how much it hurt to see it there just out of reach, but how amazing it was to share it all, offering myself in return.

I tell Nora that I sold my soul for the scraps off Marci's table, and that for 9 months, I was happier than I have ever been.

I tell Mary that I would have waited for her forever. Even if it had taken her 30 years, I would have answered when she called, but I wasn't strong enough to call her and be dismissed again.

I tell Casi that she is the first person I have ever wanted to change, instead of waiting for the gift I have always thought it to be to be allowed to witness her changing herself.

I tell Paul that he's worth more than he knows and if I thought he would work for it I wouldn't pity him not having what he should.

I tell Joe that he never did a damn thing to me that I didn't let him, that he was nothing more than what I didn't have the courage to do to myself.

I tell Denis that I would have loved him.

I tell Kevin that two out of three wasn't bad.

I tell Pat that it is not just the choices we make that shape who we are, but the ones we don't make as well.

I tell Virginia that I am sorry I didn't realize what was offered to me from the start.

I tell Stewart that I hate him and love him, I miss him and I'm not even sure if he's real anymore, but I honestly pray that I didn't dream it all.

Then I grab my keys, hug and kiss my cat, and leave. I leave and never come back. I dream of all the things that might become of the people I care about, but I never try to find out.

And it's a hollow kind of freedom, everything said that needs to be said, everything done and over. I am always cold, it is always dark, there is never anyone with me, and for once, I am honestly alone. I don't hope or worry about things to come. I don't take responsibility for those around me anymore. I'm no longer overcome with paralyzing fear that I have failed them. I've given them everything I can, and left them to decide what to do with it.

It's always around this point that I wake up. Blinking my eyes open, my sluggish mind wading through the contradictory feelings of freedom and overwhelming weight, I always regret that I have.

I'll never say these things. I'll never walk away, I'll never do what I hoped Joe would every night. Because then there would be no purpose for me to these people anymore. And if I have no purpose, no use, then history shows they'll move on and leave me behind. And that I am terrified of.

I'm not afraid of being alone. Just as I am not afraid of dying. You cease to exist, what is there to be afraid of then? But I am terrified of life. I am dumb in the face of my fear for those I care about. If they leave me, how will I be able to help make sure they live?

On days like today, when I am so tired, I welcome the dream. I revel in the sheer simplicity of it. I feel victorious as I sing and chant and scream and cry everything I know I will never say. I can breathe, my chest no longer tight, my heart no longer racing.

And I wake up with regret.