It Hit Me Suddenly...

It hit me suddenly.

A million thoughts swirling inside me, minute after minute, day after day. I’ve analysed all of my feelings, all of the events of a shared past, from every conceivable angle. Every conceivable conclusion has been reached at some point by my mind. The word "ruminating" does not do justice to this seemingly never-ending stream of consciousness.

I’ve settled on exactly where it all went wrong numerous times. Each time I’ve settled my mind on where I’m at, the thoughts begin again. The conclusion I reach always places the blame on me for everything not working out how it was meant to. I first reached this conclusion long ago, even when we were still together. However, even in admitting that it was all my fault, my ego clung on to “but’s” and “if only’s.” Then one day, 12 months after we’d last been together and 6 months after we'd last messaged each other, it hit me. Finally, it hit me.

12 months ago, I was thinking about her every day still. 9 months ago, everything still reminded me of her. 6 months ago, I stopped being able to watch movies or listen to songs that reminded me of her. For the last 3 months… there’s only been guilt, sorrow, and the agony of grief and loss. Then today, whilst standing on my balcony, watching and listening to the noisy peak hour evening traffic drive by, it hit me. My mind went silent. That moment of clarity at last. Everything was all my fault, no “if only’s” and no “but’s.” I’m sure I’ve reached this conclusion before, but this time feels different. Complete silence. My mind was still. I am the only one to blame. A sobering clarity. Sweet relief, at last.

Then it hits me once again, that sickening pain of having forever lost the only thing that ever mattered. Briefly, I wondered if I’ve been here before. Is this an elaborate, never-ending loop that my mind has constructed to avoid the pain of admitting that we’ll never be one again? If I can just think about it, from every conceivable angle, I'll be able reach every conceivable conclusion... and then maybe, just maybe, we’ll be together again one day.

The dreams started around that time too. At first, they were fleeting images, snippets of conversations that we had, moments of laughter, and occasional tears. But soon, they grew more vivid and persistent. Each night, as I drifted into sleep, I was transported back to a particular place — our favourite place to park the car and watch the world go by. The sun was always setting, casting a golden hue over the tarmac road. We were there, sitting in our cozy little cone of silence which was my weather-beaten 1996 Ford Falcon.

In the dream, I could hear the rustling of leaves, the faint chitter chatter of passers by, and the rhythmic chirping of crickets at dusk. The air was filled with the scent of Autumn’s onset. She was always there, looking as radiant as ever. We’d share our dreams and envisage our future together but I could never remember the words when I woke up. The dream would always end the same way: just as I reached out to touch her hand, she’d vanish, and I’d wake up, heart pounding and a sense of profound loss washing over me.

As weeks turned into months, the dream began to evolve. It became more detailed, more intense. Our special spot, in my trusty old Ford parked in the exact same parking spot, but the conversations grew longer. I could hear her voice clearly, soft and melodious, but still, the words slipped away from my memory like grains of sand through my fingers. The sense of guilt and sorrow deepened each time I woke up, realising it was all just a dream.

One night, the dream took a darker turn. The sun was setting, but ominous storm clouds began to gather. The once peaceful parking spot was now filled with an eerie silence. She was there, but her expression was different — sombre and distant. I reached out to her, but this time, she didn't vanish. Instead, she looked into my eyes and said, "You need to let go." Her voice echoed in the silence, and then I woke up, drenched in sweat, the words ringing in my ears.

The recurring dream was more than just a figment of my imagination. It was a manifestation of my deepest fears and regrets. Our car spot symbolic of our shared memories, the golden sunset - the end of our relationship, and her vanishing act a reminder of my inability to hold on to what was once dear to me. The storm clouds and her sombre expression were symbols of the unresolved guilt and sorrow that had taken root in my heart.

Her words, "You need to let go," haunted me during my waking hours. What did she mean? Was it a call to move on, to forgive myself, to find closure? Or was it just my subconscious mind trying to make sense of the turmoil within?

The dream began to take a toll on my daily life. I became withdrawn, avoiding social interactions and activities that once brought me joy. My work suffered as I found it hard to concentrate, the dream always lingering at the back of my mind. I stopped going to our special spot, fearing that it would trigger more vivid and painful memories.

Friends and family noticed the change in me, but I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. How could I explain that I was being haunted by a dream, by a past that I couldn't change? The sense of isolation grew, and I felt trapped in a never-ending viscous cycle.

One evening, after another exhausting day of battling my inner demons, I decided to take a walk. Aimlessly, I wandered through the streets until I found myself standing in front of the place we called ours. My heart raced, and my first instinct was to turn back, but something compelled me to move closer to where we once knew beyond doubt that we’d found our forever person.

I walked over and stood on our once special place, the familiar surroundings triggering a flood of memories. As I sat there, the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the park, just like in my dream. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, the scent of blooming flowers that bordered the car park filling my lungs.

In that moment of solitude, I heard her voice again, but this time, it was different. It was comforting, like a gentle whisper in the wind. "You need to let go," she said. And for the first time, I understood what she meant. Letting go didn't mean forgetting or erasing the past. It meant accepting what had happened, forgiving myself, and finding the strength to move forward.

That night, I had the dream again, but this time it played out a little differently. Our spot was as special as ever, and the sun was setting, but there were no storm clouds. She was there, smiling, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. We talked, and this time, I remembered the words. We talked about the past, about the pain and the joy, and as the dream came to an end, I reached out to touch her hand. She didn't vanish. Instead, she held my hand and said, "It's time."

I woke up with a sense of peace that I hadn't felt in a long time. The recurring dream had finally given me the closure I needed. I realised that while the dream was a manifestation of my fears and regrets, it was also a guiding light, helping me navigate through the darkness of my emotions.

From that day on, that car park became a place of solace rather than sorrow. I visit often, not to dwell on the past, but to appreciate the beauty of the present. The dream no longer haunted me, and the sense of guilt and loss gradually began to fade away.

The dream that once bound me in a cycle of pain became a catalyst for healing and self-discovery. It taught me that while we cannot change the past, we can learn to let go, forgive ourselves, and embrace the future with an open heart.