Sunday, October 03, 2010
For the several years that I have been overweight, I have had a recurring and rather disturbing dream that rears its ugly, reminding head while I’m trying to enjoy a restful slumber. The setting of the dream is never the same (not that it matters), but the message is. And always loud and clear.
So, and as dreams go, it goes something like this… I find that I’ve tumbled into some Wonderland-ian rabbit hole where a strange series of dreamy events begin in which I play the lead. But then, and quite unexpectedly, the storyline is disrupted. My entire being is suddenly unable to play out my given dream role because the spotlight – and therefore my focus – has shifted entirely, zooming in on a two-bit horror flick realization.
My mouth – my teeth and my gums, they’re covered by this very strange, tacky, gooey substance. It’s a cross between the dental plaster used to make a mold of a person’s teeth, and something like 57 pieces of Bazooka, well-chewed, and now, well stuffed into and plastered onto every surface and gap in my mouth. Needless to say, I am immediately intent upon ridding myself of the flavorless, nasty stuff, but no amount of chewing or gnawing will make the substance purgeable or – worse – ingestible.
What I am clear on, however, is that this stuff is holding me back – I cannot utter a word because of it. In my dream moment, the glob has rendered me mute, unable to do or say what I’ve come to this dream place for, unable to express myself. But then again, I think, I wouldn’t dare speak through the gloppy stuff even if I could, because I’m embarrassed as hell. I can feel the eyes watching me. And so I keep my mouth shut so I don’t expose the disgusting stuff. I wonder… How many have noticed? What are they thinking? What are they saying?
At this point I quickly exit stage left, as they say, and find a private dream place (sometimes in front of a mirror) to free myself of this unwelcome intruder, trying desperately to peal it away layer by layer. Yet no matter how hard I try it returns, as if it’s growing back. I am horrified, helpless, stuck.
And this is where I awaken.
Now I’ve never felt I needed a PhD to figure out all the symbolism in this nighttime play and all of its discouraging sequels. But this is the first time I’ve ever written about it, or even told a soul. And so, my SparkPeople, this is my debut.