(waking Monday morning) Woke from another brother dream. We lay in the same bed and he was talking, and I was thinking on my own. It was completely platonic. Not just in instances but in atmosphere and feeling.
I knew he was assuming everything wrong. I knew I had to explain to him the truth before it was too late, and my silence would make me come across as a liar.
It was a little choppy, at one point we were in a kitchen. He was nice, and completely oblivious that the House ever happened. But I couldn’t find a way, to insert myself into his flow of words and the rolling momentum of his assumptions.
I felt so guilty, and anxious, like there was no easy answer, and if I told it could ruin everything and if I didn’t it would definitely ruin everything because he would assume I had finished elementary school, that I had ever even been to middle or high school, that I had ever been on a normal date, etc.
The dream was very short, but I loved being in it. I kept trying to get back into the dream, kept trying to find him. I wish .. I wish so hard it stops me in my tracks. I wish he would just show up in real life.
Before that dream, I had another one. It was full of anxious thoughts, some deep and others that pulled from the last few days.
In the dream it became clear that it was time to end it, there was nothing left to hope for. I woke up for a few seconds and couldn’t remember the specifics of the dream, but did know to commit suicide. Then I fell asleep.
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Seems like I don’t want to be Powerful. I don’t want powerful movements. Because then I’d be susceptible to remembering.
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