I once had a weird, scary dream. A witch was hunting and haunting me all night long. I tried to escape and I hopped on a bus that stopped close to me.
The witch followed me a bit like the ghost on the subway in the movie Ghost. I remember the number of the bus was 4.
In the end the which didn’t catch me as I woke up before.
The next morning I checked the numbers of buses in the city. There was no bus no. 4. It was a relief. The dream was really so vivid.
I told my story to a friend and he said: Bus no. 4? Interesting.
– It doesn’t exist, right?
– It actually does. At the time of Day of remembrance for the death it takes you to the cemetery.
Isn’t that a scary coincidence?
After four months I finally feel a little better. Even though I spend every second day mostly in bed, sleeping and reading and sleeping again.
Caffeine is supposed to be my greatest enemy. My adrenal glands nod with a wide smile when I don’t take any and put me to sleep again.
I used to work a lot or better I did a lot. I learned to make my work and life a computer game. I always had a lot of fun.
Then I broke down and burned out. How come? I am on a quest of finding out what put me in this quicksand that made me fear for my life.
Was it really work or the other obligations I have in my life?
Was it really me or the venomous people around me?
Was it a really hard lesson, maybe the hardest of my life, I have to learn from?
Was it that only some of us are given the opportunity to feel that much and react emotionally?
Is it that the modern world prefers numb and it is telling me to change accordingly?
Well, I have the right to choose myself. I have the right to make it as I want it.
The biggest mistake I made that I got burned out because I burned for others not for me.
It’s about time I did it for me.
The legs can’t carry my body.
I am shaking.
My whole body trembling in this fear.
I am not ok.
Everything is a frustration.
I can’t bear it any longer.
This is too much.
Powerless I crumble into featus.
I breathe and hope it will pass.
It won’t. It perseveres.
I feel like vomiting.
All my muscles cramp.
This is not me.
The ambulance comes.
They will help me.
I try to entertain them.
I always try to entertain everybody.
I always try to please.
I don’t realise it is not the right time.
The legs can’t carry me.
Stepping slowly towards the resurrection. The path is full of sweat, pain and disgust. Feeling even more sick that I hardly believe this will in the end make me feel better.
But there is hope. I tried just about everything to save me in this situation. I tried but it is too strong to heal fast.
Stepping slowly upwards the Calvary. I will be saved in the end, the old me will die.
And the new me will arise and go unburdened with all the suffering I had gone through in my past life.
This Calvary is the last I stroll in my life. This I promise to myself.
Come on. Totally aware that when I feel good I feel guilty. This is the trick my conscience plays on me.
Maybe tomorrow I feel a little worse, so that I silence this sound of guilty conscience a bit.
Wondering why it exists in the first place. It’s rooted in my brain for 4 decades and it’s completely normal to feel this way. I actually have no knowledge of any other feeling I could have at these situations.
I served and I felt guilty. It felt right at that time.
I stopped serving and they want me to feel guilty. They tricked me into a disguised guilt with a quilt, so it didn’t seem so mean at first.
As time passes, this feeling will go away. They were mean. I have every right to be free. Truly be free.