In the End

Why does the sun go on shining
Why does the sea rush to shore
Don't they know it's the end of the world
'Cause you don't love me any more

Why do the birds go on singing
Why do the stars glow above
Don't they know it's the end of the world
It ended when I lost your love

Last night, I had a pretty disturbing dream and it left me feeling sad and out of sorts all day today. Kind of lonely and sad.  Melancholy.

There is much hype and talk about "the end of the world" in December all because some Mayan calendar ends in December 2012.  I've been doing a fair share of joking about it.

Well, last night, I had this dream where I was outside of myself observing myself.  In the dream, there were these rows and rows of military style bunk beds, all lined up, three bunk beds high, in this very long room.  A bunker.  Lots of standard-issue gray and navy blue wool blankets, single pillows, white sheets.  No frills.

In the sea of uniformity, there was one bunk that had a pink striped blanket, pink sheets and a fluffy pillow with ruffled eyelet trim.  I knew that it had to be my bunk bed.

There are all sorts of people moving among the rows of bunks, searching the end of each bunk for what I assume is their names.  I don't recognize any of these people. 

At one point, I scan the room and there's a calendar with a big red circle around a date and a bunch of red Xs through all of the dates leading up to this date.  I can see December 2012 on the calendar.

I can hear snippets of conversation about "being prepared" and "... I think it's really going to happen...." as people move by me.  I realize that this must be some sort of bunker for people who are trying to survive whatever is supposed to happen when this big day arrives.

At first, I'm a little excited, like I'm part of a clique or special group, selected to be part of history.  I keep looking for people I know, friends, co-workers, loved ones, relatives... someone, anyone who can spend time with me.  I keep looking for one person in particular but don't see that person and feel a little heartbroken because I really hoped that one person would be there with me, like we were meant to be survivors together.

I tell myself that maybe that person is in another bunker and we'll meet up later.

A woman in navy suit, carrying a clipboard, moves towards me.  She said, "Have you made up your mind yet about your method?"  I must have looked confused because she said, "Pills seem to be very popular."  I'm still confused.  Then, she moves away and my mom is standing behind her, holding a gray and white cat.  It's not Abby, though.  The cat looks a lot like my cat Molly who died in May 2010.

My mom hands me the Molly lookalike and a bottle of Tylenol.

I look at my mom and say, "I don't want to die.  I want to live."  She doesn't say anything, just hands me the cat and the pills and moves away.

I go to my bunk, holding the cat, and I look around and notice that people around me look very solemn and sad, not at all like people who have been chosen to survive the apocalypse.  I realize that I was actually among those chosen to not survive and this was some sort of suicide camp.

The woman with the clipboard walks by and tells me it's almost time.  There is a part of me that feels this flicker of hope, that maybe nothing will happen and that I can maybe not have to choose anything and ride it out.

She stands in front of me and suggests that I "take care of" the cat first before I "take care" of myself.

I hold open the cat's mouth and put in some pills and hold the mouth shut until the pills are swallowed.  I pretend to take some for myself but do a slight of hand and drop them down my shirt instead of my mouth.

The pills work quicker than expected on the cat and the cat starts to whine and whimper and then foam at the mouth.  Its eyes roll back a little and it gives me this look of "What did you do to me?" (sort of how Molly looked at me when I took her to the vet to be put down)  I panicked and said I'm sorry over and over and then tried to put my finger down the cat's throat to make it throw up the pills but I just knew it was too late.

I started crying and holding the cat, feeling this incredible remorse for what I had done and for choosing to end its life.

I then woke up.

I was so absolutely sad and disoriented when I woke up.  The dream was so real and so profoundly sad.

I haven't been able to shake off the weird sad feeling all day.  I've tried.  I've tried to joke with people and talk to people but there is this ache that won't go away.  There's also this kind of scared feeling, like when you are a kid and have a nightmare and then don't want to go back to sleep because you are afraid it will come back.

I wish I had someone to crawl into bed with and just tell me everything is okay.  I also feel like I need someone to forgive me for putting Molly down (and for choosing to kill the cat in my dream.)

Surely I'm not still feeling guilty about that after almost two years?

I'm still not feeling well and I really just want to crawl into bed, but, for once, I'm actually not looking forward to it.

I think tonight might be a sleep with a light on kind of night.