This morning I had one of those true-to-life dreams that are so real you have a hard time believing it didn’t really happen when you wake up. My alarm woke me up, and I hit snooze with lightening speed because I wanted to find out what was going to happen in the rest of my dream. I did this twice. And both times, I went right back to the same dream.
I’m in a waiting room, by myself. I am there on my own will. My name is called, and I get up and nervously follow the person through multiple rooms, doors shutting behind me. Finally, I sit down and the lady who called my name sits down with me and starts asking me simple questions. I know what she really wants though, and I can’t answer any of her questions because I’m afraid of the next question. Then she asks it, and I am stuck.
I kept returning to the same spot in the dream, stuck. I was never able to move forward.
Isn’t that the story. I am stuck and I can never decide for long enough that I want to be unstuck. Moments of desiring to be unstuck are fleeting and sparing. Fear keeps me in this place. Horror overwhelms me when I think about letting go of the deeply entrenched fear of gaining weight. I equate weight gain to love and pride. That is, people will stop loving me, or be unable to love me, if I gain weight. They will stop being proud of me or be unable to be proud of me if I gain weight. And then I would be fat and lonely and unloved.
That is scary.