The other night, I dreamt that I was jumping off the San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge. It was just a pretty straightforward dream about committing suicide: midpoint on the bridge, I climbed over the fence and I jumped. Nobody was paying attention to me, since in my dream I was such a fucking loser, anyway. It was my Armani coat, my lost soul, and I jumping together. No flowers in my hair, no pill making me larger and pill making me small… And about my heart, I had already left it at E*TRADE back in October 2003.
Suddenly, half way down, I had an epiphany: man, I was not that bad! Okay, granted that I had often times cheated and lied and, more recently, hoped for a 49ers loss in the Super Bowl, but there had to be something positive I could still contribute on this planet… Well it was too late, and my body disintegrated on a cargo ship transporting hundreds of containers filled with defective yet inexpensive products made in China. Then I woke-up, heavily sweating and traumatized that American businesses cannot compete with the Chinese…
Suicide is a recurrent dream. So is showing-up to a high school final exam without having studied for it, occupying a cubicle at E*TRADE weeks after having resigned, and being the construction worker in the late 70s band The Village People. After all, I did Go West to begin life new! Now about E*TRADE, I really don’t know what the fuck it’s all about. I resented the place for five years, except when my V.P. would tell me, “Nick, you’re making a difference in the lives of your peers.” No, actually I also resented that. It was just some pet talk he had learnt at some bullshit employee motivation seminars, that was intended to distract me from being upset for not having received any bonuses.
I am an anxious individual. And anxious people do experience recurrent dreams. Do I have an anxiety disorder? All right, why not! I’m so fucked-up, anyway! So one more disorder should certainly accommodate my ambient fucked-upness. My anxiety is the result of the volatility of my emotions. I am an emotional man. I am FRANÇAIS, Monsieur! LA PASSION is MY language! And I am not ashamed to cry, especially when France gets eliminated prematurely from the soccer World Cup… To be emotional is part of my core identity. My parents have entrenched that viewpoint inside my brain, since I remember being able to remember, and I have been nurturing it. On a Sunday afternoon, when I was five, we went to see Bambi and I cried. Bambi’s mom had died. Knowing my parents’ somewhat inability to be overall able, they picked “abnormally emotional” instead of, “Oh no, don’t tell me our son is gay!”
Well, I don’t like it anymore. I mean, I’m forty-one and crying before the quarterfinals really sounds unreasonable. I have realized that it’s okay to have emotions. However to be emotional can really be destructive. And in my case it compromises from time to time the wellbeing of the one relation that matters the most to me today. No no no! I’m not referring to the relationship I have with my own self. What, you want to know more? It’s a mystery and I like it!