I dreamt about my mother and it was awful.
I dreamt I was back in an old house my father was renting on S.16th St. I was talking to my Mother as I know her as an adult but felt like I was the age we lived there, 8 or 9. We were sitting on the floor of our closet (we shared a bedroom at that time) talkng. She was so small and thin with her IV hooked up. I told her I was gonna get some food and suddenly there was a subtle shift in her face. She said she had to leave and stop for dinner. I was thinking you can’t eat food, you’re on pure liquids. Suddenly she took the IV off like it wasn’t even hooked to her and got up. She looked at me then realized what she did and started to try to explain. It was a lie. She was a fake, a substitute. She wasn’t my Mother and I could see that now. I ran crying to my Father and Brother’s room (sharing a room at this time too) and busted open. I threw myself on my Father’s bed as he slept telling him that that woman wasn’t Mom.
I awoke startled and sad. It’s bothered me all day when I realized what bothered me was that it was a lie.
I realize writing this that I was so bothered and startled because I wanted to live the lie instead of the truth. The truth is more painful. It’s harder to face but necessary. I just don’t know why it’s necessary.