Alice and My Dream Teeth
So, one of my girlfriends told me today about the symbolism in dreams. She said that losing your teeth means you're out of control. One of my recurring dreams has been that I am losing my teeth. And not like her dreams where she wiggles a loose tooth until it falls out of her mouth, but crumbling teeth. Erosion. Slow.
My teeth sort of grind down and are bitten to chalky little nubs. I can't help it. They tumble out of my mouth even though I stop chewing, stop moving. I can't save them. I start thinking about how permanent it all is. I will never have my own teeth again. I will never smile again with my real smile. I will need dentures or Veneers or something. But it will always look wrong.
I start thinking about how there is no alternative. And in my dream, I come to terms with it. I practice new smiles with my mouth closed. I pull my hair down in front of my face. I start thinking about pretty dresses. I ignore my teeth, maybe a little bit sad.
So, if like her, I put this metaphorically into perspective, there are a couple of things here. First, this control is crumbling from within me. I don't push myself out of control like her, I watch it fall apart around me; I mourn it as it goes but know it was inevitable. And I deal with it, I accept.
I wanted that control and I am surprised when it is lost. Not taken from me, not given up, not forced away, but just disappears, dissipates, crushed, tumbling, falling. Like Alice and her rabbit hole. Curiouser and curiouser. I am falling into this. It is falling away from me. And there is melancholy. There is fear about the new, the unknown, the absence. I am pensive, somber while I look for a bandage, while I try to logic and problem solve through this permanent loss. I have already accepted it, it seems, while I still look for something outwardly to fix it. But I know it will never be the same.
And I try to cover it up. I don't want it seen. I want to move focus away from it, to something else, something pretty, something pleasant. Like the magician and the rabbit. Diversion and slight of hand. You will never see, but I will know. I will be without it; I will have something else, but it will not be the same. And you will never really know. If you look close, only a little off. I will descend my staircase in my beautiful gown and I will be Queen, without control. A figure head.
It's lonely. Still with my fix, it's lonely. Do I want what I can't have? Do I try to get it from something else? Is it unsatisfying? Because when I am under someone else's control, two things happen. One, I hate it. Every ounce of my body hates it. Or maybe not hates so much as resists it. Defiance, wholly. Tell me to breathe and I would try to stop. This has been how I have seen overlaying structural authority and control my whole life.
I don't even not trust it. I think more than that I see an agenda and I want to fight it. Is anything ever for me? No. I don't get anything for me, so this control is not for my own purposes, even when it is. And passive aggressive. Stubborn. I would cut off my nose to spite my face. I would reject what I know is right.
And then something else kicks in.This voice in the back of my head that tells me to be reasonable, be responsible. Moreover, do what you're told because then you don't have to fight, you don't need conflict. Someone will be happy even if it isn't you. Why do you deserve happiness over someone else? You don't. Stop being childish and selfish. They know, so they know better. It's irrational and most likely the source of my resentment and frustration, but I cause it. Me.
And so I smile through it. I make the best of it and accept. I am secret with my melancholy. And I look for my bandaids. But somehow, if I were to just pick someone. You. You tell me what to do, how to do, be consistent, be predictable, be trustworthy. My will is satisfied with that. Then, tell me what not to do, be inconsistent, be erratic, be removed. My masochism is satisfied with that.
I am not complex. I think too much. Curiouser and curiouser.
And so I like it and I look for it. Tell me what to do, tell me what you want. I will be a good girl. I will please you, I will sacrifice to you, for you. I will love everything you take from me, everything you hurt me with. Because the acceptance, the predictibility is comforting. Always so that I can keep control, so I can watch with my mouth closed. I can see everything and you can see nothing, almost.
I love you if you can see me.
My teeth sort of grind down and are bitten to chalky little nubs. I can't help it. They tumble out of my mouth even though I stop chewing, stop moving. I can't save them. I start thinking about how permanent it all is. I will never have my own teeth again. I will never smile again with my real smile. I will need dentures or Veneers or something. But it will always look wrong.
I start thinking about how there is no alternative. And in my dream, I come to terms with it. I practice new smiles with my mouth closed. I pull my hair down in front of my face. I start thinking about pretty dresses. I ignore my teeth, maybe a little bit sad.
So, if like her, I put this metaphorically into perspective, there are a couple of things here. First, this control is crumbling from within me. I don't push myself out of control like her, I watch it fall apart around me; I mourn it as it goes but know it was inevitable. And I deal with it, I accept.
I wanted that control and I am surprised when it is lost. Not taken from me, not given up, not forced away, but just disappears, dissipates, crushed, tumbling, falling. Like Alice and her rabbit hole. Curiouser and curiouser. I am falling into this. It is falling away from me. And there is melancholy. There is fear about the new, the unknown, the absence. I am pensive, somber while I look for a bandage, while I try to logic and problem solve through this permanent loss. I have already accepted it, it seems, while I still look for something outwardly to fix it. But I know it will never be the same.
And I try to cover it up. I don't want it seen. I want to move focus away from it, to something else, something pretty, something pleasant. Like the magician and the rabbit. Diversion and slight of hand. You will never see, but I will know. I will be without it; I will have something else, but it will not be the same. And you will never really know. If you look close, only a little off. I will descend my staircase in my beautiful gown and I will be Queen, without control. A figure head.
It's lonely. Still with my fix, it's lonely. Do I want what I can't have? Do I try to get it from something else? Is it unsatisfying? Because when I am under someone else's control, two things happen. One, I hate it. Every ounce of my body hates it. Or maybe not hates so much as resists it. Defiance, wholly. Tell me to breathe and I would try to stop. This has been how I have seen overlaying structural authority and control my whole life.
I don't even not trust it. I think more than that I see an agenda and I want to fight it. Is anything ever for me? No. I don't get anything for me, so this control is not for my own purposes, even when it is. And passive aggressive. Stubborn. I would cut off my nose to spite my face. I would reject what I know is right.
And then something else kicks in.This voice in the back of my head that tells me to be reasonable, be responsible. Moreover, do what you're told because then you don't have to fight, you don't need conflict. Someone will be happy even if it isn't you. Why do you deserve happiness over someone else? You don't. Stop being childish and selfish. They know, so they know better. It's irrational and most likely the source of my resentment and frustration, but I cause it. Me.
And so I smile through it. I make the best of it and accept. I am secret with my melancholy. And I look for my bandaids. But somehow, if I were to just pick someone. You. You tell me what to do, how to do, be consistent, be predictable, be trustworthy. My will is satisfied with that. Then, tell me what not to do, be inconsistent, be erratic, be removed. My masochism is satisfied with that.
I am not complex. I think too much. Curiouser and curiouser.
And so I like it and I look for it. Tell me what to do, tell me what you want. I will be a good girl. I will please you, I will sacrifice to you, for you. I will love everything you take from me, everything you hurt me with. Because the acceptance, the predictibility is comforting. Always so that I can keep control, so I can watch with my mouth closed. I can see everything and you can see nothing, almost.
I love you if you can see me.
posted by macaroon at 9:33 AM
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