it’s been, what, a week? Time goes slower now, or maybe a bit faster.
I wanted to tell you about my dreams, even if it hurts knowing that I had them. Dreams are weird and wonderful, to me a dream is a reflection of what someone’s thinking about, their fears, their flaws. I’d be stupid to ignore them the way other people do, sometimes to me a dream is my inner way of discovering a truth. When I was with one of my exes I remember a dream where i was trapped as his car drove straight for me, stuck on a bridge, attempting to scream. How can I not look at that with slight awe, even remotely impressed. Today mine is impressive and depressive, a sign of well, I suppose I don’t need to spell it out for you, nobody knows me better! Wow, it’s amazing how reading my notes, although shorthand even got a dream I forgot.
Three audial visual dreams
1. My current boss was an air attendant asking for a gate pass, I was going to a funeral and was panicking, I handed him a gate pass and he was so happy until he found it to be the wrong one, eventually after scrounging enough I found a second in my wallet and it was the right one, although he acted as if I had never shown him the first! Angrily I made him pull up the footage of me handing him the first because I felt…crazy? gaslit? It’s so odd feeling that way in a dream, certainly not the first time it’s happened either!
2. I was with my family, there was something about an item being “worth at least a grand to make things work out” shockingly the item when opened was a welder, “10,000 dollars” my dream family valued it at, then somehow it became them me and my mom in a living room, mom was arguing with me about of all things a remake of the film “The Mask”, I was explaining how it would flop and she just started getting upset, telling me to go home, like I was 12 or something? I slapped her face, not with energy or malice, but kind of in a playful, know your place sort of way. She was shocked, completely totally shocked, I remember being afraid yet, nothing came, nothing happened. My notes don’t capture the ending, they usually don’t.
3. I didn’t notate this dream in this mornings rush but I remember enough to try. I was in a chat room with an old cyber friend, arguing I think? heated? and I remember waiting for them to respond and when they did they did so with a drawing. a drawing of me, making fun of my stance. What’s impressive was how the drawing was visual to me, how it was in this friends style, the same line weight, the same color choice, the same proportions. It kinda pissed me off how good this fucking dream drawing was I will not lie. but that’s when I awoke, super late, super tired.
Lately I can’t help but ask myself, where am I in the hearts of others? Where are others in the hearts of me? If I’m angry or feel misunderstood or off-balance, hungry or desperate or addicted or….feeling whatever I can quantify my nasty emotions as, where’s the root of it?
Somewhere deep down in me these feelings emerged and started to fester, maybe I never took the time to just, process this. I’ve been hellbent on going chapter to chapter to chapter, group to group, bridge to bridge. I never even dealt with Ocerak calling me a ….god what was it princess? drama princess? spoiled princess? back then even back then I was so fucking jealous, so insecure in friendships in trust. Maybe it was because my middle school friends fucked me over? How in high school I got outed by the guy I used to stay over at? play games at? the guys sister introduced me to mcr and creature feature, the first time I played F.E.A.R. was cause of them, but obviously this parasite was in me before HS.
If I wrote Ocerak’s name in a poem I wrote on paper in 2013 then that means I was like this nine years ago. I suppose I have a long time to talk to myself, to iron this out. There’s gotta be a hurt there, a repression or some nodule stuck in the fucking center of all of this. Maybe it’s not everything wrong with me, but if it’s a component I have to deal with it, before I even remotely think about interacting or getting lost in the waves of “always doing” again.
I’d like to be mature, to act my age, to speak my mind, to stop all the noise that I inflict upon myself every bad day, the memories and impulses and desires, the imaginary what if’s, paranoid imagined memories. I know that’s not all I can be because I feel when that leaves. I feel the clarity and the sheer raw neutrality of even the air I breathe. I won’t deny who I am, what I’ve done, I won’t downplay or lie about it diary but I know it scares me and I know I haven’t done enough, I haven’t taken it seriously and I know I can do better, I want to do better.
When the air feels like a drink and all I can do is feel in awe about what I can do with my time. When everything is this wonderful beautiful haze and I know that everything I’m scared of is nothing! How the only thing separating me from anything ever is time and effort. If it were a button I’d smash it, if it were a switch I’d flip it and lock the door.
Anyways, thanks as always diary. You really salvaged an otherwise pretty banal day! I accomplished a lot today and although none of it is an impressive step, all of it in total is another push forward in a long line of righting the many wrongs I’ve built upon.
So thank you diary and let’s gooooo me! Alriiight! Do your best, do your best, let’s go me!
Let’s have some fun!