Dreams

This is a story I wrote a while back about dreams and where I grew up.

Dreams are more than just an idea in our head, they can be living among the material world. That is how I would describe the house I grew up in; It was far more than just a home.

This house wasn’t just the house I grew up in, it is a constant weight telling me to be patient. We all hold dear the places in which we come of age and the ones that keep tragedy in the walls, like yellow stains of cigarette smoke. There is a sensation when you walk into a home that has been through so much. Almost a hundred years of history were within its structure. It held a feeling that memories were alive within it’s dark wood floors, of kids running about. One could call it nostalgia, but it is so much more than that.

Not as vivid as a sunflower, the yellow paneled, two story house seen from the road drew in that same yellow glow of the sun to make it the brightest house on the street. It tends to frequent my dreams in an inviting, glowing, light yellow. The way the warm rays of sun felt through it’s living room windows still touches my cheeks when I close my eyes and daydream. The furnishing was carefully picked out, and suited it well. The wallpaper, though some would find drab, seemed to suit how old the house was. It was a light beige and brown design that reminded me of victorian floral prints that would be found on couches in antique stores. From the outside, the house looked like a product of the “American dream”, with a white picket fence and everything. Straight on, it was welcoming, somewhere the neighbors could walk over to, sit and talk on the soft white porch. It was built during a completely different era, in the 1920’s, and undoubtedly invited many through its doors.  

Not only was this house a home, it was a business. It was the catalyst for my mother’s dreams, which had changed my point of view on the world. There were two glass door entrances, separate. The door on the left, which would later become the entrance to my mother’s salon, at one point in time was called a parlor. A parlor is a formal living room, that, as early as the 1600’s, was designed to be where the homeowner could bring guests to visit away from the designated living space. It was a perfect opportunity. It made her hair-styling services seem less of a business but more of a friendly, close, and homely experience.

Even though my mother’s business did exceptionally well, her health made it increasingly difficult for her to continue working. She was diagnosed early on with coronary heart disease. She struggled to do her best, but medical bills, vehicle bills, and other expenses were piling up; while she was working less and less. It led her to a vast amount of debt and a home with no heating in the winter, that she would unfortunately have to give up on. There wasn’t any way for her to pay the bank what she owed, and they foreclosed on the house around 2011 and sold it in early 2014. Though it was a tragic part of life, to lose a home, there are times now that I imagine it happened for a reason.

My brothers and I moved in with my dad, and we transferred from a school, out in a more rural part of central Indiana, to a 4-star school in the suburbs. Though I did not graduate from this school, I made several close friends and learned from my experience of attending. I gained a lot of knowledge, but also disdain for public schooling. I was asked to leave this school for attendance issues, that were caused by my health. At the young age of 8, I was diagnosed with rheumatoid psoriasis. Some would call psoriasis a skin disorder, because that is how it is seen and diagnosed, but it is what is an autoimmune disorder. Not only does this cause a rash on the skin, but it causes deficiencies throughout the entire body. My suppressed immune system, especially, made it hard to stay in school, I felt almost consistently sick. My last year at that school was the hardest, because I missed 38 excused days, and 10 unexcused. That meant that 38 times, I was sick and had a doctor’s excuse. The stress of completing my work exceptionally, and even just completing it at all, was wearing down on my body. It sent me into a lengthy episode of manic depression. I tried every day, to keep myself calm, but each day seemed to grow harder, more difficult. I was starting to have symptoms of IBS, or Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Which included intense muscle spasms of the stomach and intestines, likely caused by stress. It seemed like a downward spiral that was taking my body with it. I felt that I dropped down to a point of no return, but sure enough I kept on moving forward. Though I “dropped out,” of school, I still saw my friends, and I still sought knowledge and I sought to better my life. That time without structured schooling taught me a lot about how important education really is. I also learned how common it is to have issues such as mine, by attending a local group therapy session.  Most of all though, I learned that regardless of background, we all struggle in ways. I met people that could relate to me well, who also struggled because their parents were separated, and those who deal with family, friends, and themselves who suffer from health/mental issues.

It was a tough ride, not only for my mother but for my family as a whole.  For a short while, a few months, my mom even moved back in with my dad, my brothers, and I while her boyfriend struggled to keep his feet on the ground. With low immune systems, and high-strung tempers, every day was a constant battle. More so for my mom, it was hard to maintain composure at times, and refrain from arguing or even screaming at each other. Regardless, our distaste for each other did not last. After renting a one bedroom trailer with her boyfriend, where he started his own business, years later (today), my mother has her own home yet again, and a new chance for a better life.

It was difficult to maintain my father’s large home without my mom there, especially years back when I was younger and did not understand that everyday chores are essential to taking care of a home. Her boyfriend started taking work out of state, and for months I didn’t see my mother. She would visit, seldomly. I began to regret the distaste I grew towards her, because deep down there were times I really needed her to be there. Distance can tell you a lot, especially how much you care about someone that is far away. We grew closer, holding onto a reply by text message. Over the past year, I have seen a great change in my mother’s health and overall wellness. She used to be almost twice the size of me and now I am a spitting image of her. She used to not be able to walk up the stairs without being extremely out of breath, but now she is right along with me when we clean-up. This fact alone has inspired me to push myself beyond my limits.

Especially at a young age, frequently we don’t understand where we want to be until we see someone else get to where they are going. Just as many don’t understand how to overcome stressful situations without relative coping skills, or advice, given to us by our family and peers. Sometimes that advice can be given to us without even asking, upon reevaluating the past and what you have seen others go through. This is the case for myself, I find that spending my pre-teen and early teenage years in a house that was someone’s dream home, and reevaluating my experience, changed how I see my own potential. I have seen people around me achieve goals, big and small, at times of devastating triumph. Even if I didn’t realize it at the time, it inspired me to strive to achieve anything I would call my dream. These additional feelings, not only of new beginnings, but of loss and departure, have led me to believe that though it has the possibility of being short-lived, or failing, it is still always possible to achieve anything you work hard for. There are so many that say “You can become anything you want to be,” but my mother never had to tell me to follow my dreams, she showed me that I could.

Author's Note

I love criticism so gimme some!! :) ♥