supplicium post mortem

Warning: self-pity within…!

I had a dream in which I was being called on to tutor a girl who had huge learning disabilities. She was borderline retarded, I was told. I agreed to meet her and see if I could help; they were desperate, and rich.

The dad was intense, worried, a little over-controlling. The girl, over-fixated upon but interesting, was not as dull as I expected. In fact, there was intelligence there. She seemed able to learn, but she said her memory was the problem. She could remember practically nothing. I probed this. Did she mean like Alzheimer’s, short and long term memory loss, like she wouldn’t remember this conversation? Or was it like she didn’t have a place to put information and so she couldn’t access it? Our session was short but we connected and I think she felt some hope.

When I came for session #2, her father told me gravely that Wayne had been. I was given to understand that “Wayne” was a brutal internal critic which had emerged from her consciousness and emotionally battered her for daring to have hope and imaging escaping her useless state. I understood at once, I thought, and went in to see how she was doing. She was shaken, and while we were talking, Wayne appeared in her. He was scary, sadistic, violent, and powerful. I told him/her that I knew exactly what was going on, that I knew what it was to be more than one person, that I wasn’t intimidated or confused. Wayne got violent and tried to tie me up with electrical wire, but I wrestled him/her to the bed and sat astride them. I’m more than one person, too! I yelled, You’ve messed with the wrong tutor! I was determined to help this girl by helping her defeat Wayne. But, she, as Wayne, was dangerous and even pulled a knife on me, albeit a paring knife. Was I underestimating Wayne? And was this actually severe MPD and not, as with me, a playful expression of different parts of the personality?

Later, I talked with her father, who was very disturbed at the violent turn. He was leaning towards institutionalizing her. Also, he was disturbed that I’d been so forceful with her. Wasn’t that abuse? he wondered. I tried to explain: 1) She was relieved by my forcefulness; 2) If I was forceful, it was with Wayne, not her.

Later, she mentioned yet another person, Mrs. M-something alliterative. I was like, Oh brother. But then I realized, hey, this Mrs. M can maybe be called in to fight Wayne. The dream ended before we sorted out whether I was going to work with this girl, when, and for how much.

I recount this dream because it was toying with the border between play/the others and insanity. It reminded me how peculiar it is to maintain a living relationship with Casey when there is no one to play with her. And yet, I can’t exactly give it up and pretend that she doesn’t exists, or that she’s irrelevant and has no place in my life. But it’s pretty impossible to play with her on my own. I’ve actually taken to speaking out loud to her sometimes, as if she’s there beside me – not just talking to her in my head and saying, Casey go to bed! In December we were driving upstate, or rather I was driving, she was in the passenger seat, and the dogs were in the back. I told her, actually out loud, that if there was any possible way for me to deal with her, to put her across my knee and settle her down, I would. Believe me, I would! Plus, she had desperately needed That Thing for days (due to prescription Codine for shingles), but neither of us could quite face the whole shebang. It was just too grievous.

Will he really never ever come back and take care of her? No matter how long I wait and how much I apologize or cry or change or whatever it takes?? It’s a lie, obviously, that you can accomplish whatever you want if you want it hard enough and try hard enough. Even this wish, lodged in the heart of God, will never ever be answered. Nothing can bring people back from the grave. Even people who are part of you and are absolutely indispensable and who go without any warning much, much, much too soon. I don’t want to be this person, this bereaved person whose life is over, but it feels like there isn’t anything for me in this world, nothing real.

God, do you have any ideas for me, about me? I hope you’re working on them double time. Let me tell you, I do not want to be a slave – and by that I mean I someone who snatches bits of nourishment here and there while I fulfill my “purpose” which is to help others while having nothing worthwhile for myself. I want to be the protagonist and I want a good thing! And a really good thing, the real deal, like you gave me the first time, and now, soon, before I get old and defeated. And, Lord, if you can’t send someone to look after Casey, properly, then could you kill her, too, and take her away to be with you and Marky and RP and Uncle Maurice and M, who love her. But please, don’t take her because if you did, you’d take me, the heart of me, and I’d be this tedious shell of responsibility and grown-up-ness and reasonableness and I’d never write anything worthwhile again and I’d become really invisible and there would really be no purpose.

So, OK, I see that and I don’t really want you to take Casey away. But listen: Casey is orphaned, bereaved and orphaned, and she has only this pro tem guardian – me – who can’t do anything with her. Please send her the perfect person. Please have pity on us. Stat.