Last night I dreamt I was searching for a gun in my sister’s closet. There were stacks of school supplies on a shelf, and clothes upon clothes hanging from every inch of space. There were shoes, and boxes. I felt suffocated, but I was under instruction to search through everything. It was hot, it was unfamiliar, and I pushed against the sweaters and dresses to open up boxes, slide aside binders, to feel everything that could have a gun hidden inside it. My arms ached as I pushed, attempting to get everything back in its rightful place lest my sister discover I had been rummaging through a space that was not mine. I felt indignant, it was a fools errand. There was too much to look through, and all packed so tightly, and I was so close to everything I couldn’t see whether I’d been thorough that box or not. And why did I have to go through the closet? And what was the point when I’d be as likely to miss the gun as find it? I had vague recollections of the dream before, when I shrunk myself so I could go flying through the air with the man I loved, but had been forbidden to leave with. And there was a forest. And there were living mountains. And it was dark. And somehow I had been sent from there to the reality of the closet to find the gun, and to bring it out.
I did not find the gun, reality rang and I was brought back to my bed and my responsibilities. But the suffocating feeling has stayed. Even in my waking life, I am searching for the gun, suffocating from the oppressive layers of memory and nurture. The gun is my power. The gun is my pride. The gun is control. But oh, it’s a struggle to patiently open up the boxes of my memory, to pat down every pocket. And it doesn’t feel like the gun is mine. And what I would do with it once I found it? Such a powerful weapon, my first reaction would be to give it away. Here, I found this, do with it what you will. But if I kept the gun, if it were mine, there is an undeniable amount of responsibility. My safety, their safety, and what about the accidents and the potential to misfire? But it could protect me. It could strengthen me. It is loaded with potential. But I have to find the damn thing before someone else does.
So I search, now, in my waking hours.