CrossDreaming

 

I had a dream last night. 

I was 20 again (I wish) and in the car with my parents.  And I was dressed as I please – as a girl, long hair, nail polish and makeup, nice outfit and sandals. Don’t remember the whole ensemble, but the hair was dark and shoulder-length, the strappy sandals creamy-tan.  In my dream I felt ‘normal’ in a way that I seldom do in my every day drab life.  And all through, in my dream-journey with my dream-family, I had this quiet satisfaction that I’d come out to my parents, and I could just relax. And as I’d told them, then coming out to the rest of the world was going to be easy.

(There was also a spell in the dream where we were circling the block looking for a KFC for lunch.  I can now confirm that inside this trannie there’s a fat girl trying to get out!)

In the dream-car, as we drove – through 60’s Oxford, where I went to college - my parents were very ‘matter of fact’ about my new girly-ness.  Far from being judgemental, they just seemed to take my transformation on board.  As well they might of course, since it was my dream not theirs.

As I awoke, I nurtured the feelings that my dream had engendered (now there’s a good word!), and just lay there, savouring the selfish joy of my beautiful transformation.  And then as I awake further, recalled that my Dad has been dead these 15 years, and my Mum for three.

Nothing profound there for a psychiatrist to unravel, but it has affected me all day.