Eff's Rambles (Archive)

10/07/2004

Answers in Dreams?

I wish so much that my dreams answered the issues of my life for me. It is not so easy to follow the suggestions of others to jot down dreams shortly after waking up. At times I am not sure when I am awake, or it is that the few dreams I have that I can recall even modestly use too many chaaracters and every day scenarious that are famiiar if not totally reflective of my life that it is hard for me to tell so early in my day when reality begins.

It's not healthy, I know it, and I have felt similar to this before. I've become too attached, and I am in conflict with myself over how I feel. The last time I felt so intensely is largely what brought me to the Philosophy and Absurdity community. There were misunderstandings and unmeant words; I needed to get away from where I was then. I've read psychological reports of mine that date back years, one over twenty of them. What they furthur validate for me are some of the problems I face now; my judgement in social situations and the guilt I feel. I do not want to turn people away. I have not felt as I have before, and I don't know what that is. I need this attachment too much. It haunts me, running through my head, making me wonder what failures there are that I should feel guilt over. I wish that rationality helped, but that is like any statistic, a cold comparison that too often feels as if one's problems are being made light of.

I am trying to make a transition, but I often feel the avenues being blocked. If those last few doors close, I do not know what will happen. There are positives, and I at times become too curious about them. I'm not sure why. It might be narcissism; a loathing of myself that can't understand them. I suppose it's both. But, no matter the truth and sincerity, if any, of the good things said it just does not ultimately solve the matters of my life, but it moves me forward in hope. I need to take my own steps; to become and keep disciplined and suffer through the pains; to not even see it as suffering. I need to accept things, to not obsess over what many might call the trivial things.

My hopes are changing. I'm now more concerned with my worth in the every day of real life than with my odd and onoxious fantasies. Even those things I had been interested in for so long don't hold my fascination as they had not too long ago.

This pressure should have come before. I should have invited it. Now there's an anxiety, and it reminds me of something that I need to face; I still have yet to grow up.

I am not how some picture me to be. I so wish could even come close. I hope some day I will.

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