What If the Person You Feel Like Isn’t the Person You Can Be Anymore?

I have been having the same recurring dream for a long time. 

I’m at the Festival of Imagination, one of the biggest Czech fantasy and sci-fi conventions, one that I loved to go to. I have made some of my happiest memories at this convention over the course of the years. It holds a special meaning to me. But ever since my mental breakdown (which was probably an autistic burnout) in 2017, I haven’t been able to go. Too many people, too much noise, too cramped accommodation, and I was too overwhelmed to be able to get used to the new environment at all. 

In this dream, I always think I have finally made it there. I’m always aware of all the previous dreams, knowing that they were just that – dreams – but absolutely convinced it is for real this time. 

It’s always such a good time. I’m so happy there. 

And I’m always so disappointed when I finally wake up. 

What do you do when the person you still are inside no longer matches what your nervous system lets you do?

When you know you are not able to do things that were part of your identity, and know that even if you somehow managed to break outside your comfort zone and do them, you still wouldn’t be able to have a good experience because of the limitations of your nervous system? 

When the dreams show you the experience from your best, most carefree, easiest years, and you know you wouldn’t be able to duplicate it even if you felt up to it? 

One of my pen pals made the following metaphor for changing capacity to do the things you desire: If your bra size changes, and you continue to wear the old size, you will be uncomfortable. You need to accept the change, adapt to it, and start wearing your real size. 

But what is my “real size” now? And will it ever be able to get back to the old one? It seems impossible now. My capacity to withstand stress is slowly growing, but is it all the way there yet, where I could try to return to my old passions? 

Which one is my real me: the one that lives in reality, or the one where I feel like myself? Is it good that the dreams preserve our passion and identity, that we can live them through them at least in our sleep?  Or is it something that doesn’t allow us to make peace with our new reality, where the bra size has changed for good? 

Is it better to be whole and complete, at least in dreams, to experience it in some form, when reality denies you? 

I think this situation leaves me to work in two seemingly incompatible directions: to accept what I can not do, at least in the moment, and to work on making doing it a possibility again. But how to reconcile both of these so different angles? 

The old Serenity prayer goes “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference.”

But am I wise enough? And could both of these be true at the same time? Where does it leave me then? 

We AuDHD folks are already used to contradictions, because our very nature is like this. Autism wants predictability, ADHD thrives in chaos. Autism wants planning, ADHD decides on impulse. Autism wants to stay home, ADHD wants to go out. We are already a living contradiction. 

So who would’ve been better equipped to handle this conundrum than us? 

But I haven’t yet solved this puzzle. I’m much better at working at being able to live my dream again than accepting it might not be mine to live again. 

I’m not good at accepting, period. I live in a kind of desperate resignation that still leaves the space for my dreams to resurface in unguarded moments, in dreams. It still hurts to see other people living then while I can’t. It still moves me towards seeking what I can do to move towards them, even if by the smallest steps possible. 

I have grudgingly acknowledged, but not accepted, that I’m not myself as I know myself to be. 

It would help greatly to be able to change the idea of what “myself” is to more reflect my current reality, yet I refuse to do it and hang on to the past with all my might. 

Maybe it’s because my dreams were interrupted, torn from me so suddenly. That I went from living them to not being able to live in the span of mere weeks. I still hang on to the future as I have imagined it during those better times. I still feel like my life was put on hold suddenly, like I have not really been living all those lost years. I don’t even have the feeling that I have aged during that time, creating a discrepancy between the age of my body and the age of my mind. 

My bra size has changed, and yet I keep wearing the old size, even though it’s uncomfortable. 

I try to redirect this yearning part towards the small things that would fly completely under my radar in the happier days. I realize the value of small joys now more than ever. I can still touch my dream in the tiniest ways. It’s not dead yet, only resting, to paraphrase Monty Python. Or at least I hope so. 

I haven’t given up completely on my dreams, I feel that I’m unable to do so. I’m trying to keep them alive through the tiny acts of courage that connect me to them. To get out of my comfort zone and go where the people are, be it a board game meeting, an artistic meet-up, or even a smaller convention near where I live. 

I don’t have the wisdom to accept what I can’t change yet, and maybe it will badly burn me in the future, but for now, I keep believing that everything is still possible again. It’s a driving force behind my striving to touch that dream again. To get back to myself. To live. 

I recognize this is a very one-sided coping mechanism, and I try to learn from the people who have been able to let their past go, but I’m not there yet. I’m more inspired by the story of a girl who ended up in a wheelchair but didn’t give up on her dream to travel. 

But, at the same time, I realize that paralyzed people can’t compete in the Olympics. They can compete in the Paralympics, though, and that is good enough for them, enough to make them feel happy and fulfilled, enough to feel they have accomplished something. Maybe there is something to be learned from this. 

Maybe it’s time to look at what shape my dreams can take now, instead of hopelessly hanging on to the past. Maybe there are ways I can still feel like myself, that I can still realize those dreams in some way, even if it’s not a way I would contemplate before. 

Maybe it’s time to look at the things that can be part of my life as it is now, and seek fulfillment there. 

One of my penpals told me her passion is racing horses, but a sudden accident has ended that dream for her. She had to move from the horse racing hub closer to her family because she needed their help. But she is doing hippotherapy now, and that is enough for her to feel connected to her old world, to her old life, to keep the passion alive in the life she has now. 

In the end, it’s we who decide what shape our dream takes. It’s the one thing we have always left, a power that nothing can take from us. 

We can rise from the ashes like a phoenix to live again, to live on our own terms, even if some of those terms are dictated by necessity. 

Yes, it is a skill that needs to be learned through practice, but life lends us endless opportunities to do so. 

In the end, I hope for one thing: That I’m able to look back on my life when I’m on the deathbed, and not find it wanting. The thing I wish for the most is to not have any regrets when my time comes, only peace. 

But this is the final test. The time to do the homework that will prepare me for it has come now.

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