I’ve dreamed about The Bartender often lately. My dreams aren’t about him, though; they’re about what he symbolizes. After all, we have barely talked twice in over two years. We haven’t slept together in closer to five. Hell, he’s not even a bartender anymore as far as I know. My how the time flies.
Yet, I find myself dreaming about him. In those dreams, I am longing, I am angry, I am hurt and confused. Most of all, I am searching. I am searching for solace and respite from the anxiety that has been running so high lately because of my cat’s declining health, increasing bills, lack of work, and the winter that never wanted to end (surprise: we’re getting more snow tomorrow).
The Bartender had a natural knack that allowed him to calm me. He wouldn’t have understood why it worked had he thought about it, which he never did. He could have expanded on his potential if he wanted to, but he didn’t.
Still, very few people have that sort of calming effect on me whether it’s intuitive or developed. And I could use some of those people now — the type of people with whom I can sit in silence and not vent about because I am so very sick of explaining what’s going on. The type of people whom I can hug or cuddle until the anxiety physically melts from my body, perhaps until I fall asleep.
I have so many people who are willing to listen and some who will spend time with me, but no one who currently fills that role. That’s part of the reason why it was so difficult to let The Bartender go.
And even though I am no longer in love with him and it’s been years since I was, my dreams bring back that rush of feelings. They seep into my waking life, reigniting a passion I thought I had forgotten. Sometimes I have dreams of my ex-husband, vivid dreams fraught with emotion. In many ways, these dreams are the opposite because there’s no respite from my anxiety; these dreams only cause more.
But these dreams are similar in that the emotions that evoke feel real. I wake up remembering what it was like to be in love with these people, to pine over them, to hurt when things ended. The emotional residue from my dreams is strong enough that I wonder if I might somehow still have feelings for these people.
The thoughts can linger for days, and just when it seems they’ve passed, I have another dream.
I wouldn’t act on these thoughts. There’s nothing to be rekindled or more closure to have. But my anxious brain just likes to rehash old hurts, perhaps because it’s easier than dealing with my current stressors.
For now, I dream of the day when those are over.
