Stress is an interesting thing. It affects the mind in unbelievable ways. I've been having two-part dreams lately. Most of the time I don't remember what I dream about, but when I do, it's usually in two parts. Like I'm acting out some kind of play. My dreams lately have been vivid and cryptic.

Even if I don't remember the events in the dream, what I did, or who was with me, the feelings from the dreams linger for days. I'll often wake up angry or afraid. Or feeling suffocated, as though I've been holding my breath underwater for hours.

Maybe it's because I've been seeing a shrink. Maybe it's because I've been rethinking my life and am pushing myself in new directions. I'm challenging beliefs drilled into me since I was born, and those aren't easy to question. Though, at this point in my life, they should be. There are certain times when it's necessary to reinvent ones self, and this is where I am.

A few days ago, I had another one of those two-part dreams. But what made this dream special was that I woke up feeling powerful. It was the first dream I can remember ever having in which I took control of the sequence of events, and wrote my way to my own conclusion.

In every dream I can remember I played the part of the observer, or worse, the victim. I was reacting to events unfolding around me. There have been dreams in which I've fought, but I never won.

I woke from this last dream feeling power over my world. I immediately grabbed my woman and made love to her. I hadn't felt anything like it before, and the feeling hasn't gone away.

THE DREAM

Part One: Fighting my way through hell has made my spirit stronger.

I'm locked in the lobby of an enormous office tower. The air is cold and heavy. There are no windows and the walls are black marble. The ceiling is so high and it is so dark that I can't see how far up it goes. I am completely alone.

I see an elevator door made of polished black steel. It opens and I step inside. I press the only button and a tiny point of amber light glows from the center. The steel walls are polished like mirrors, but I can't see my reflection. A dim fluorescent light spills out from behind the tops of the walls and is the only light.

The doors close and it's completely silent. The elevator rises.

The only sounds are the bell chimes as I pass each floor. They're clear and pure like a meditation. The elevator rises faster as it gets higher. Thousands of bell chimes sound, each one sounding closer to the next as the elevator moves closer to the top. The speed of the ascent pulls my body to the floor. Hours pass and I feel myself grow dizzy at the realization of how high I must be. The floor shakes and the last bell sounds.

The doors open.

I step out into an enormous intestine. As my eyes grow accustomed to my fleshy surroundings, Tiny eyes begin to glow as they peer and chatter at me from the darkness of the flaps and folds in the pink-gray walls. The eyes follow me as I walk through the tube, and my feet slosh through viscous fluid oozing and dripping from every crevice. It winds and splits like a maze, but my instincts tell me which direction to take. I am not worried as I trudge for miles through the goo.

Then a massive black stone door blocks my path. As I approach, I tell it to open. The door opens and I am gripped by a vacuum that pulls me toward the threshold. I stare out into space. The stars are bright and huge. It is cold, and I am sucked into the void, but I am not afraid. I gain a foothold on a passing asteroid.

As I gaze into the nothingness around me, a villain approaches me. It is riding on top of a small asteroid. His black steel suit is demonic, and he points at me because he is ready to fight. His movements are fluidly robotic as he picks up a large rock to hurl at me. I had only one thought…

There is no way this can be real. I should be somewhere else instead of breathing in space. This fight is over and I win because I do not believe in you.

And I am somewhere else.

Part Two: Everyone is now a guest in my reality, and they'd better fucking show some respect.

I am in the lobby of an elegant hotel. The walls are white marble, and grand white fountains splash cool water from the mouths of cherubs into crystal pools. Ferns and assorted exotic green plants everywhere are luscious and flowering in vivid colors. The perfect California day shines in through high windows. People are busy everywhere.

And I am butt naked.

As I walk through the lobby toward the courtyard outside, porters and bellhops spot me and jump to attention.

"Good to see you again, sir. May I get you a robe? How about your favorite drink? I trust you had a pleasant trip. Did you find any treasure?"

"I am ready for a swim," I tell them, and walk down the white steps and outside into the courtyard.

Outside, there are four swimming pools stacked next to each other in a square. They are crystal clear. The hotel guests watch as I stroll to the edge of the first and dive in. It is a flawless dive. I swim to the other side, get out, and dive into the second. I swim to the other side, swimming through the third and fourth pools, until I am back where I started. I feel refreshed and confident.

From the pools I walk, naked and dripping wet, up a flight of marble steps to an area where people are enjoying breakfast at tables with large green umbrellas. My wife and her boyfriend are there. I sit down in an empty seat at their table. She is eating eggs and juice, and he is having thick slices of toast cut into triangles. I pick up one of his slices of toast and take a big bite out of the middle, tossing the rest back onto his plate.

They stares at me with wonder and fear as I stand up without a word and walk away.

i am drinking spearmint spring water from target and it is taking some getting used to. it is a little peculiar to have flavored water that is not sweet.

WW is going really, really well and i am very excited to have to go buy a belt this weekend. a belt! to keep my pants from falling down! how thrilling is that.

i started seeing a new shrink a couple weeks ago. is shrink a derogatory term? i don't mean it as such. my old shrink was not really a shrink, but a social worker who worked through hospice and more of a bereavement counselor. it was natural that after some time we part ways but it was almost like this strange faux breakup scenario when it was finally time for us to have our last session.

i have high hopes for working with this new lady, jane. it was scary the second week though when she just stared at me and waited for me to say something. i need more leading than that and silence in thay way makes me crazy uncomfortable.

i have a lot of apprehension about the upcoming week and seeing todd and trying to determine whether we are still on the same page, relationship-wise. it was really reassuring for me to hear yesterday jane's stance that whatever happens, we will work through it. in a way i am embarassed by it - somehow having that vulnerability. i never even used to talk in sessions about any guy-related stuff, feeling like it was just silly or shallow or a waste of time and money. but the more i work through so many elements of losing my mom, the more i realize how impacted i have been by it in less-than-obvious ways.

i wish everyone could see a counselor or psychologist or social worker or whatever, and reap the benefits of that truly objective person whose sole goals are to listen and help. i am thinking of that old 70s commerical for soda where they sing about wanting to buy the world a coke and perfect harmony. well, i'd like to buy the world a shrink.

some of the anxiety i experienced when i first moved here returned over the past week. i'm not sure how to describe this kind of apprehension, what makes it different from everyday stress. it's this feeling in my stomach that tripp and i used to call 'the pit', where i feel just a couple steps from losing it. having actually lost it a bit when i moved now gives my anxiety another dimension - almost a meta-anxiety in which i stress about my stress getting to that point.

the social worker i have been seeing, who is nothing short of a godsend, made an interesting distinction to me a couple weeks ago that i keep thinking about. he explained the fact that depression is an all-around kind of an emotion where anxiety is more specific in that it is stress about what is to come. so now when i feel anxious i feel the need to try to pinpoint exactly what it is that i am anticipating. i'm having a hard time figuring out what exactly it is that i am afriad of.

in an hour i will be sitting in my first bereavement group meeting at gilda's club. i feel mildly anxious. one thing that's weird, is that i am in a pretty good mood. somehow, that seems inappropriate given the topic of the group. i realize i don't need to head into every meeting bawling my eyes out, but skipping on into the building doesn't quite jive, either. in the past going to see counselors/shrinks/etc when feeling jovial felt wrong, too. but i know i am being dumb. and surely there is a lesson about owning my feelings in their somewhere, too.

with some hindsight i have realized that when i am feeling okay and capable and dealing well with my mom's death, i tend to feel like i don't need any help like groups or social workers or even talking to friends. as a result, though, i think things like what i now think of as my my move-to-NYC meltdown occur, because i haven't sufficiently prepared myself emotionally. coping and kind of going with my feelings of loss kind of seem like they need to at least live in the middleground of my mind most of the time, for it is the times when those feelings get pushed back that they come out and sucker punch me and consequentally TKO me later.

the meeting went well and i laughed really hard a few times. who would have thought?