11/27/2003
I woke in the dream world in a small store greatly resembling the comic shoppe where I used to work. I found myself sitting beside a young woman. She was about my age, maybe a year or two younger. She was exchanging unpleasant words with a young man. He was upsetting her and finally, I stood and told him to leave the store as tactfully as I could. “You can’t be here. This is her place of work,” I said. He stormed off in a huff, but not before telling the young woman that he never wanted to see her again.

I sighed and shook my head, closing the glass door behind him. I noticed that the whole storefront was glass, and I suddenly got the feeling of a fish in a bowl. Shrugging it off as best as I could, I returned to the young woman and took my seat at her side. She was writing something, and crying. Her ballpoint pen dug violently into the surface of the paper as though she were taking out all of her aggressions in that one missive. I peered carefully over her shoulder and saw the twisted piece of art she was creating. At first glance, it was nothing more than a bunch of tiny circles with lines through them and what most would call chicken scratch. But as I looked at it, I could see something more. The circles and lines became the heads of screws plunged deep into a wooden plank… The surface is just the beginning… Those words floated across the paper, and I recognized them right away. It’s the title of one of my favorite pictures by my favorite photographer, and it’s a picture that I could stare at all day and be lost in my own mind. To me, it meant that there was something deeper going on than what I was initially seeing. The girl kept scribbling and I saw another image begin to take shape. It was the image of a human arm, its wrist tragically shredded. I felt my heart in my throat.

The girl threw down the pen and got up, knocking her chair over as she ran to the back of the store. I can recall very few times when I’ve ever been that scared in my life. I knew the determination in her step, the desperation and hopelessness of her tears. She was going to attempt suicide. I honestly don’t know why, but I couldn’t let her do it. I ran after her and found her in the ladies’ room, a razor pressed against her skin. She was naked, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked so alone, so lost that I wanted to cry. I lunged forward and grabbed her, trapping her arms against her sides. She dropped the blade and struggled, screaming at me that I was a bitch, she wanted to die, and why did I stop her?

I remember my words. “Because I’ve been there,” I said to her. “I’ve had that razor against my skin.” I’ve been at the bridge’s edge, staring down into the murky waters below, so close to jumping. I’ve been there, I told her, and it’s a very dark place that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. She cried and thrashed around in my arms, but I tightened my grip around her. She yelled that she had no one left, that her boyfriend had been her world and now he was gone. She had lost half of her soul and she didn’t want to live anymore. She had no will left to live.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. Her words were hitting so close to home. I started to cry. “I’m here,” I screamed at her. “I’m here and I’m not going to let you go.” I didn’t know this girl, but I suddenly felt that she was the most important thing in the world to me. I had to keep her alive… somehow… but how could I do that when I had spent so many of my years wanting to die? I don’t even know how to live…

She went limp in my arms, still sobbing. I loosened my hold on her and she laid her head on me and cried. I told her the only thing I could think of to tell her. I told her why I’m still alive right now. I told her that, no matter what, there was always one who was there. There was always one who would never leave: My goddess. The goddess in us all. She would never leave us alone, never lie to us, never see us as anything but what we are and she would always accept us unconditionally. She would never require us to give up a part of ourselves for her love. She would always love us, no questions asked. No man, no woman could take that sort of love away. She would help us bear our burdens, no matter how small or large, and she would help us find ourselves.

As I talked, I noticed that the girl calmed down considerably. I looked at her, and it was only then that I realized that the girl was faceless… This startled me and I woke up. I typed it immediately and here it is. I’m going back to bed now, but I ask for and welcome your interpretations.

Thanks