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(WARNING: long entry. took up 8 journal pages. took me forever to type up too crying )
I found my mother's box. Finally. Her hidden stash. The pretty pink and blue box where her secrets are hidden. All my life she's condemed the Occult and I find a box with candles, oils, joss sticks, tarot cards!! manuals, gods know what else had lain in that box. She's had it for ages. Condemed me and the Occult for ages . The hippocrit. She lied to me. Nothing new despite her protests, but she did. When I found that box all those years ago (actually it was only 4) she told me it was just some massage and aromatherapy stuff and ripped it out of my hands. That's what I remember anyways. It's not one of the handful of memories that find their way into my mind everyday so I can't gurantee its solidity. Like anything else really. My dreams, my thoughts, my other 'me's' keep getting in the my way and jumbling everything. I wouldn't change it though. As much trouble as they bring me, I love my dreams, and can't live without my masks, nor communicate without my thoughts.
I love and hate my dreams. I mean in my dreams, any and all my dreams, even the nightmares, I'm free. No matter the dream, nor the role I play, I'm free from this like cage that surrounds my mind when I'm awake. I never notice it until I'm asleep though. But it's there. The cage with my mother's voice. Constantly telling me what I should and shouldn't do, telling me to hold my tongue, thought, posture, to not piss someone off. It's an instinct that adapts to each person and I can't live without I know, but I wish it wasn't in the cage, wasn't with the mother's voice.
Now that I think of it, maybe that's what the dream was telling me a yr ago. Not about the voice, the cage. It's a little foggy, but it starts with me and a boy. Or not. Maybe it's me. whatever. Two kids, one odler than the other by several years either playing or working in this yard. Suddenly the younger child runs out (yes, I know, my mind doesn't keep things strait does it?) oddly older than the first child. I'm pretty sure I switched bodies unaware(insert: actually, more likely part of my phasing x.x)..........but anyways the child runs at me yelling something about how the mother wants me, it's finally my turn and whatnot. No specifics because there's no words as always. I go into the building which I can't describe, and everything goes blurry. All I know is the mother is yelling, throwing, raging, arguing. Then I'm in the Hall. It's on the second story and I know this hall is deadly. I walk through the Hall warily avoiding many traps, but not all. Just past the halfway point I suddenly remember that the mother sent the young child with me. (Apprently I switched back before the fight) I yell at him to run, I know he's going to die and see the blades fall from above. I see more, but it's all faded as a blue electric ball forms and grows around him. In less than an instant, it's around me as well. Not sure what happened, but the boy is gone. The ball implodes on me destroying the Hall and nearly the whole house. I feel heat, cool. I look up(insert: i switched to a viewing from the yard) to see I burst from the wreckage trying to trap me, in the form of a dragon my wings pushing at the air flattening the pile of rubble that was the house, drowning out the mothers shouts of objection and fury. And then I'm looking down on the flames (insert:back to my body, the dragon) fighting against the force of my wind. I can hear the mother but pay no heed turning my eyes to the world beyond the yard, the house that had held me captive and tortured me, from the mother i felt oddly indebted too even after everything she did to me, and with a magnificent roar befitting a dragon, I fly off into the night.
Maybe that dream was trying to lay it all out on the table for me. Trying to tell me to stop denying its exsistance. The torturing yet protective age I was unaware of, my hatred, my obidience (nearly blind) and my duty to my mother. And just how strong and my longings had become. Not just for freedom, but that's getting ahead of myself.
Back on topic, why I hate my dreams. Surprisingly, there's only two reasons. The first is just because no matter how bad a dream gets or how bad I want to awake from it, it holds me there. I am incapable of awaking from a dream until it's done with me and faded into blackness. The second. Well. Harder to explain. Okay so I have a terrible memory. It's a ridiculous number of memory ques for me to remember something that isn't thought of every day. But that's where difficulty begins. My memories are more real than reality no matter how they're warped. To my mind, the dream of me turning into a dragon is more real than the memory of me going to a cousins wedding. Your dreams are supposed to be stored somewhere else tha nyour memories so they don't get in the way. Mine aren't. Everytime I remember something, I have to examine it thouroughly, everything, to try and see if it's a dream, a memory, or an implanted memory. Dreams come easily but I can't tell they're dreams. One time when I was 6-ish, my alarm went off. I turned it off, got dressed, had breakfast with my brother. Mum drove us too school. about lunch time guess what happened? (If you're good at foreshadowing, you probably know) My mother pours water on me and I spring up in bed. She'd been trying to wake me up for an hour and was afraid I had fallen ill or comatose. Well I'm not sure bout that last part. Everytime I think on a memory the parts I don't think of a lot seem to warp slowly putting that shadow of doubt over it. My dreams never change though. Ironically. In ten years my whole life might be different to me, but by damn I'll remember every dream! And of course there's 'memories' that stay with me for a time before they are forever forgotten. I don't care about those. They're fake. Memories that were made by another's words. I've had a countless number of them. Every word I read and even make contributes to one being made. One of the reason I don't RP (especially the S&M kinds) on a whim with anyone. (insert: remember? dreams are more real than reality.) The words I write with another may just be pretend, but they shape pictures, which become memories even dreams at times that become a part of my life, become reality. I keep remembering that text Logan sent me awhile back. It said something like: "Don't worry over it. It's just a what-if scenerio." Well he's right it was. But it's also reality. If only for me.
-ahem- Some of the memories I know are real and unchanged only come when I see them. Like when I'm sitting at the window watching a storm outside. Kinda odd but it brings back a lot of memories ,some unrelated. Watching a storm, I can see the clouds parting above me, shifting from light and dark trying to decide if they want to rain again or if they were done, I taste the morning dew still hugging tighly to the leaves, flowers, the cobbled streets, and anything it managed a hold. The dew that I knew would stay until past the zenith. I could feel the cool, crisp wind you get on an island as it tries to push the fog from the ground. The sun rising, changing the sky's dark blues and purples into brilliant pinks and oranges, then reds and blues again. The light changing the clouds indecisive gloom into a beautiful contrast of pinks and grays, then forcing it's wat through the fog leaving ranbows and dazzling streams of light behing it until it could off the dew turning each drop into a unique and perfect jewel of nature.
At least that's how I saw it. I still see it. And everytime I see or even think of something that reminds me of my time spent in England, such as visiting the Biltmore Estate, brings back the tears the accompany the longing. The longing to be back home. That longing has become as strong as the longing that often accompanies me to bed. The longing to be happy, free, to have someone beside me I can trust, hold, call mine.
-sigh- Yes those two longings follow me wherever I go highlighting my own faults, pains, and failures tenfold as well as highlighting the failures, faults, and pains of the world around me.
 BSPBleach · Mon Oct 03, 2011 @ 10:07pm · 0 Comments |
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