Dream journal 10/09/12

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I dreamed about trying to cop last night.  Kate was there but she had quit, and I was left to try to cop on my own in a maze-like pastiche of cities. In another dream, Sam is getting high again and she wants me to inject her in the leg, a slow grueling process.  She gives me some heroin but it’s cut with so much brown sugar, I have to pack my nostrils full of it. And then there are the dreams I can’t really remember, just flashes of powders and needles, trackmarks and wounds, endless futile searches and bunk drugs. The worst part is the mindset I wake up in – that I want to go back to sleep, back into the dream and keep trying to get high.  When I go to sleep, I find myself hoping for a dope dream and then having to step back and realize that I dream dreaming about drugs, dread the black funk it will put me in the next day.

The dreams are always worse in the fall, and last fall I was having one or two dope dreams a week for months. I haven’t done heroin in 13 years.  I didn’t even take opiates when my daughter was born or after my miscarriage. But 18 years ago in November, I started shooting heroin and 14 years ago (again in November) I came home to find my boyfriend dead and grey on our sofa.  I used to dream about Michael all the time – and in the dreams he was always hurt that I'd abandoned him, that I’d moved on without him, because in the dreams, he isn’t dead and never was.  But I almost never have those dreams any more, and the last time I did, he was like just another ex and had moved on with his own life, in whatever limited way.