An Abiding Sadness

Nightwalking through melancholy and dream states

Had a rough night last weekend—all my dead or estranged family and friends tortured my sleep in multiple intervals in a dream-state story that exhausted me by dawn’s early light.

But you know what?

I’m glad they did.

They, if there is such a thing, are the people I used to know who somehow have transformed their personality energy onto another plane of existence. And transmitted it directly into my brain.

Hold it, hold it—I’m not going crazy. At least I don’t think so.

I know so little about dream states, but this really kicks me, about how dreams can stop and start where they left off, as if the brain had a plan and you didn’t get the memorandum. Not that you would ever get, well, a memo. But if you did maybe it would look like this:

“To: Brain Owner

From: Subconscious Management Systems

Re: Renovation

Tonight we’ll be doing some heavy renovation work on your back brain quadrant, so you might feel some lingering discomfort. We’re obligated to tell you this and we hope to have the mess cleared up by morning.

If you have further questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to mull this over during the course of your waking day and one of our representatives will get back to you during our regular business hours.

Sincerely, Your Friends at Subconscious”

Something like that.

I’d get it before going to bed for the night and know all would be well by morning. Which it usually is, even without the heads-up.

And I’m curious about that. What do dreams mean when they distress you throughout your waking day?

And is it a part of Nightwalking?

---

Essentially these thoughts emerged while reading Susan Cain’s latest book Bittersweet. I’ll be rolling out a full review post when I’ve finished the book, but suffice to say I’m nearly done.

Consider this something of a “teaser review.”

This nagging question of having a “bittersweet” temperament spurred me to write this post, even with a title like “an abiding sadness,” carrying the rallying flag. Because I believe it to be true. I’ve always had that sadness dogging my heels from an early age.

The author at probably 14 or 15 years old, on a family vacation—my memory of this photo is I was feeling melancholic at the time (Photo by Completely in the Dark).

As Cain writes, “I have a shock of recognition, as I realize—these strange tears, the ones that appear out of nowhere, like a mugger at a street corner—I’ve had these tears all my life...”

It’s been startling to realize this myself as I’ve plodded my way through her book. I recognized it in myself and that’s why I chose “abiding” as the adjective to my feeling. It has stayed with me. It never goes away. It sits deep in my soul—whatever you believe that to be.

In 1987 I was diagnosed with dysthymia. In a future post I hope to do a deep dive into what led to that diagnosis and how it’s shaped my thinking about what I can and cannot do. (And even more importantly, whether it was a correct diagnosis in the first place, something I question every day.)

But for now, I have to say that my major concern centers around “quality of life,” and ongoing health issues that stem from that condition. I wrote about the effects of loneliness and isolation in this Medium post and often worry about mental health issues on cardiovascular and other late-life diseases and conditions like hypertension, diabetes, and congestive heart disease.

Given my family history, it’s a valid concern.

Is it dying or just being born (again)? (Photo by StoryShed Media.)

Anyway, this is all fodder for further investigation when I publish a more complete review of Bittersweet here within the month.

Thanks for hanging in there.

I know I am.