Hold Me Like an Omen
Revenge. I had a dream last night, I'd call it a nightmare but a part of me just calls it a reminder. It was me and my father. He had a driver's license and we were driving along a highway in a gray Volkswagen, you know those ones that kind of look like bubbles on wheels? My brother was in the backseat with me, half-brother to be exact, from my mother's new marriage. My little buddy. We'd stolen him. My father had a genius plan of getting back at my mother. We drove far away to a big storage building. My brother stayed quiet and looked out the window as though mute, his eyes on the road, and he looked so much older and smarter for the almost-three-year-old he is. His eyes were so old and knowing. In the storage building, apparently, was an illegal orphanage. My father had a plan of dropping my brother off there, forging my mother's signature and telling the police she had sold him. Of course, in my dream, this made perfect sense and was the perfect plan in destroying her. Throughout the dream I went over it, thinking why I was participating in this, looking after my brother as he walked off around the storage building as though in acceptance of his new home. I woke up crying. Not because the dream scared me but because I was frightened of the whole situation I have been swerved into, where I do not hold a single scrap of trust to almost anyone and where I hardly know anyone anymore because the people I trusted once have changed over time, some more than others.
Today was supposed to be my big day. Today was supposed to be my day. I was supposed to perform my choreography, a sort of final thesis if you will, and I was supposed to receive my diploma in dance soon after. Not a big diploma, no university degree, but a door-opener, something I'd been working hard for for so long. But no. All this shit has got to me instead. I was dying in that town. So many parts of me were ready to quit. I couldn't let that happen.
I suppose this means I have taken a side. I suppose this means goodbye. I suppose this means I lose my father. I do not know anymore. I do not know anything. I do not want to take sides, except for my own. I want the life I have been working for, and will work for. I have had enough of these fucked up situations slowing me down and pulling me back. I will have my life, I will have my freedom and I will have my happiness. I want my sanity back. I want to get rid of these pre-psychotic post-trauma symptoms and the raging depression and self-hate and self-doubt and the voices in my head and the paranoia. I want it to march the fuck out of my brain.
If I cut you with these scissors
And make it go away
(hold me like an old friend)
Feverish dreams of rage
The river runs separate ways
I always knew I wouldn't be here for long
(hold me like an old friend)
The singer, but not the song
The scissors cut deep and long