Friday, January 6, 2006

The Monster Under The Bed - Volume 3

So to say the least I am quite worried now, as I usually happen to have the most vivid dreams of anyone I have ever known, the last two nights completely riddled with nightmares have not given my attitude a boost to say the least. I have been an avid dream interpreter since my first Dream Interpretation Therapy blog entry {back in July} had inspired one of my Buffy Buddies and me to keep dream journals. My expertise at dream interpretation has often been found quite remarkable, but there is an interesting twist to this whole saga, that is making it all that much worse. Over the last month or so I have had nothing but very erotic dreams that started making my dream journal look more like a pornographic movie, than anything viable to gauge anything realistic out of {and if you knew what I was truly like in bed … my fantasies and realistic are often NOT used in the same sentence} and quite frankly I am a little rusty.

I’ve been crawling in and out of this fucking nasty bout of depression too since I came to grips with a few things that just piss me off lately too, so lack of sleep that isn’t sexually inspired {dreams or otherwise} never really help in the whole “easing back into my normal state of manic upswing” that people tend to enjoy. Interpreting nightmares, as I have often told others really has nothing to do with what they are appearing to be on the outside. Dreams in which you die {which I have had more than two in the last two days} usually signify great change, and the colorings that surround the dreams are always the most important clues to what is engulfing your sub-conscious. The problem here is that I am dreaming totally “old school” … Charlie Chaplin had more color in his movies, so I wake up three days now totally disoriented and scared. It’s incredible how my inner belief that I know things that I really do not, can be fodder for what my brain so desperately needs to beat the shit out of me all day.

Quite realistically it is the one dream where I was sitting on the outside watching myself swinging from a tree last night that put me over the edge. Having been horribly suicidal in the past, and finding myself so often in situations these days that scream “HOPELESS” worries me before I can get my bearings on what is really being foretold, and I simply haven’t pulled myself out of my funks. Isolation becomes another tool that my brain uses in the grand scheme of “Operation Get Jeremy” and I can’t fathom what I actually want or need, nor do I have the ability to accept either. My worst yearnings to be surrounded by people always wind up in the extremes to where I am suffocating, while my distant screams to be left alone lead me to being alone with my own worst enemy … ME!!

As I was trying to write out last nights dreams I finally had that totally manic meltdown that I so desperately needed, at the every least and ended up deleting all of my dream journals. The good news is that for once I whipped something out on the computer on purpose, so I didn’t actually have the urge to sit here rapping myself on the head crying “You fucking idiot, you stupid fucking idiot!” … it was more of a “You fucking genius, you mother fucking genius!” but loosely translated it was funnier at the time, and actually made me smile as I wrote it. I then decided it was time to tattle on myself in a blog. An interesting side note is that THIS is always how I feel around the time I write sexual stuff. It’s a manic depressive’s calling card actually.

There is another bright spot in it all, as I have finally worked myself into a glorious state of null. The truly manic among us know that it is these null times that bring forth some of the greatest clarity, and tend to also lead to long periods of half-assed sanity, should we chose to accept it. As I sit here, I don’t feel fat, I don’t feel ugly, I don’t feel unloved, and I don’t want to die. On the other hand, I don’t feel attractive, I don’t feel loved, {and for the love of God, don’t start telling me I am any of these things … it tends to have the opposite effect … a manic just believes you are given them pity, and then the roller coaster of … great I am pitied comes along} and I definitely don’t want to live. Here it is the glorious state of null. What I do from here will make all of the difference. ;8o)

Nothing that was printed here was intended to offend anyone, and if it did, fuck ya, you begged for it. If you believe that there are some measures that can be taken to change me, then please feel free to pray for me, and while you are at it yourself, because you read this far, and if you hated every minute of it, then you are an idiot, not me, or the other people who like what I have to say! ..

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Jeremy Fink and The Crow's Nest