DREAMS

 

January 1997

 

My memories run through my shattered head.  Now you=re dead.  You are gone.  Forever is so long.  My heart tries to be strong.  Every day I miss you, but I try to forget you.  Images beat through my mind.  Pounding, pouring, ripping, falling.  I grasp for angels= wings.  I fall.  You were my friend.  I hate the darkness that stole you.  I hate the pain that burns in me.  I grasp for you.  You slip away. Every day, I miss your voice.  Fight, win, lose.  It doesn=t matter any more.  Nothing matters.  Nothing is worth it. 

 

I am alone.  Surrounded by many, but they are like whispers.  They are barely there.  I walk the world alone.  Like a rain drop in the desert.  I am unlike you, but like the things of death.  Death is a friend.  Yet I hate and dread him.  You are gone forever.

 

Depression.  An empty boat sailing a non-existent sea.  Pain drinks up every ounce of joy and eats it up.  Not wanting to wake from sleep=s peace, my body aches.  My head is blown to bits.  The darkness offers escape, comfort and, ultimately, death.  I look to the empty thoughts as my guidance.  They offer many answers.  Death is to me as day is to others.  I seek to die.  When the time comes, I will embrace it. 

 

Rotten eggs, stolen dreams.  Reality is only in one=s mind.  Death is the only reality.  Walking down a dark hall, door after door slams in my face.  I get to the end of the hall.  All the doors have been shut in my face.  At the end, is the last door.  As I approach it, it slams shut in my face.  Shattering my mind, heart and soul to a million pieces.  Then, on the floor is a box.  I open it and find an escape.  Though in the end, it will be my death.  It is easier to face than pain.  I breathe in the shit and then my pain is gone.  Down a drain.  I know I ma just fucking myself up, but no one cares anyways. 

 

Depression.  An empty bottle, a blank blackboard.  Pain, insanity and memories.

 

February 18, 1997

 

Last night=s dreams consisted of three very important people.  I don=t remember exactly what order they were in.  I can only recall shattered fragments.  Jimmy, who lately has me concerned.  I feel horrid for not loving him like he wanted and needed me to.  And in my dream last night, I think I found out that he is hurt and mad.  But what could I do?  I hardly have time for any of my friends, much less a relationship that is demanding.  I feel bad for I know he is hurt or at least pissed.

 

Jason also was in my dream and yet again it was sad.  I had hurt him by distancing myself from him.  But, in the dream, I did it because I had to.  It hurts to love someone who loves someone more.  I remember feeling like I could never get to him.  I remember trying desperately time after time to reach him and failing again and again.  The hopelessness.  I remember that he wrote me a poem and it was about how I hurt him by pulling away.  Maybe all these emotions of pulling away and distancing myself have a good point.  Lately, I have just basically been ruled by work, fear and memories.  Love has always been my deepest fear.  Or, more so the fear of loving and then losing love.

 

Brian was in my dream.  I can=t seem to remember how or why, but he was there.  I swear he was like a warm, fuzzy blanket.

 

I also had these two other people in my dream.  One was this guy totally on the edge, close to insanity yet deep and brilliant, with long blond hair and a scattered way of doing things.  Yet, we connected in an unusual way.  He needed me. 

 

Then there was another strong presence.  Another girl.  Tall, brown hair, brown eyes.  Another model who I assume was a dear friend.  We went to a party and she was very affectionate.  We were roommates.  It was clear. She was older.  There was a dominant presence of water and of smoke.  Also of the strung out, pushing to the limits, drug enforced energy. 

 

In the entire dream, the only form of comfort, hope, security and warmth and honesty came from the time when Brian was there.  He seems so much like what Ryan was.  Which is scary.  I never want to lose him.  For he is an angel.

 

October 2002

 

Ian wrote a song about me being raped and never telling him and how it hurt him that I wasn't open.

 

The slide.  A huge slide that was like a ride, but thousands of people died because it was too fast, too hard.  It was a thrill that killed.  I was trying to stop the people who were running it.  They were not aware of the destruction.  At last I got them to stop, but they didn't want to leave and leaving was very painful.

 

Driving down long, dark, windy roads.  J's friends working in a fast food kitchen.  J sitting across from me crying.  Me telling J you never said you loved me.  J getting angry.  Us continuing to drag it out and talk only to get lost again along the long, windy dark roads.

 

A storm destroyed J's friends.  They moved to a new house, unfinished, 62 miles away.  No cars.  By a bike.  Uphill.  The hardest part was this steep hill and having to go up it.

 

Confused.  I care about him, but can't love him.  Not that way.  Love me.  Confusion because love doesn't mean to hurt.

 

The dinner.  No money.  They gave me a week's worth of food for $7.

 

My sister.  Shopping.  Talking about sex, drugs.  She and I were trying to find something.

 

A field with people sleeping, meditating.