I used to have very vivid dreams. Dreams of death, falling, anger, rape, car crashes, drowning, running away. They were usually colorful and distorted in various ways, with a particular consistency and sense of wonder and fear.
I also used to be terribly depressed, and I occasionally woke up from said dreams crying or screaming or in a cold sweat.
I am currently on medication to help with the depression. I am not going to be shy about it, because I believe that medication can help greatly in stabilizing moods and assisting sleep and whatnot.
But...I don't have dreams anymore. The only thing I can remember from my dreams as of late is a giant body of water in various shades of blue, and rocks. Plenty of pointy, angry rocks. My art (in both drawing or in writing...acting...whatever else) has faltered. I don't feel half as creative anymore. I have little inspiration. Most of my work is heartless.
I miss it. The desire to produce art, and the determination I had. It probably spawned from constant anxiety and the hamster wheel that is my brain, that would constantly hold me to an impossible standard of achievement. It kept me producing. It kept me dreaming and kept me wondering. My world is mechanical now. Wake up, shower, eat, class, eat, rehearsal, sleep, rinse and repeat, occasionally adding in things like cleaning or working out or....whatever else.
Maybe it's holding me back. Maybe it's a secret plot to get me to forget. That too; I forget a lot of important events in my life. Only for brief moments do I recall certain things that changed me and made me who I am.
So what is the body of water in my dreams? What is it representing? I have absolutely no idea. The unknown? The icy embrace of fear? Fuck.
I've been so....nervewracked lately, in terms of my relationship. Forunately, as I continue taking my medication, it's going away. I'm less concerned. I feel cold. Almost a positive cold, a hard outer-layer cold. However, why I continue to torture myself by thinking about her past or my past or our occasional speed bumps has remained a complete mystery. Probably another issue with my hamster-wheel brain. It will probably fade with time. "Such is the inconsistency of real love, that it is always awake to suspicion, however unreasonable; always requiring new assurances from the object of its interest."Ann Radcliffe, from The Mysteries of Udolpho.
On a separate note, I continue to get more and more anxious in relation to theater. I don't like the idea of experiencing intimacy, especially with a male. Perhaps its all intertwined? Like knots in necklaces or twisted wires or something of the sort. I feel lost, angry, (to put it very bluntly) pissed anytime we do exercises/flow sessions/scenes. I don't want to connect with other people. I don't want to touch them. I'm nervous and scared.
It's probably just all in my head. I need to get out, to escape the mechanics of my mind, the mechanics of medication while still holding onto my sanity and contentment. Perhaps I'm too proud to get close to others. Maybe I'm just frightened of rejection and pain. Commitment issues? Certainly. It shows through in every aspect of my life. I've learned to simply throw away people and situations rather than pushing through them and gluing them back together. I love being alone. Many refer to it as "being angry at the world." Maybe, although I don't think so. I feel like I'm just disconnected. Dropping the call. Hanging up the phone.
Maybe I'm just a rebel. I do know that deep down I'm an introvert. Most people don't see who I am through my front. It's like leading 20 different personalities, 19 of which are rarely sighted; I don't think I'm classified as having "multiple personalities" through the DSM-IV, or at least I hope not. I would rather not love and not lose, unlike that quote that says "'it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Whoever said that must've been deeply invested. It's such a romantic concept, but I've learned to think beyond just the concept of emotion and heart.
I prefer this quote: He who has loved 50 people has 50 woes; he who loves no one has no woes. It's from Buddha. It's practically the same quote as above, except it gives the concept a completely different perspective. That would make sense, since Buddhism is based on the concept that earthly desire incurs suffering. It's more objective.
Is it true that sometimes love really is not enough? Or is it just a lack of love? An emotion mistaken for love? Situational issues and complications?
When I do fall, I fall hard. Am I willing to put down my walls and drop my sword? Am I willing to accept a woe? Is pain inevitable or is there a way to avoid it entirely? Do I really have to give myself up and surrender?
Other people who are more experienced in said matters (supposedly) seem to have a more eloquent way of saying what I feel: "Better never to have met you in my dream than to wake and reach for hands that are not there." by Otomo No Yakamochi.
Do the pills really fix, or just erase and reject? Where do the ends meet? Why can't I dream anymore? Everything is a unit.
Perhaps that body of water is what lies ahead of me. I hope that, if I do manage to swim across, there are hands waiting for me.
