Dreamer Diaries

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


Sometimes I hit a block in my writings, terrible while in the progress of something, but even these terrible blocks can trigger some inspiration. I write in quiet times, when there’s no room for
it, times that I cannot focus. This is a short story about a struggler, fighting the issues of life in his fantasies.

Submitted: September 10, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 10, 2018

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A A A


I don’t know. Sometimes I just feel blocked. Like there’s a giant wall of inability, despair, desperate situation in front of me, the only unbreakable kind of wall. Though if you got the hammer, the hammer of inspiration, motivation, enthusiasm, then you could break it down like a piece of paper. There are times that I cannot think, although thinking is all I’ve got. I live in so many worlds that if they were touchable like the one you’re living in, and if it was possible for you to get in, you’d never want to leave. There are every and all kinds of things you can and cannot imagine within them. You can enjoy them all. Even when it storms around them. Sometimes these worlds collide. Sometimes some crappy interruptions invade my mind and ruin everything. This is all I’ve got and I can’t even get it down. When it’s all over my head, I can’t even show people how exciting they are or how excited I am about them. Because they’ll just kill the lighthouse and drown my ship to make me quit and forget about ever sailing on the ocean of my dreams. How cruel. People try to explain to me that it’s love. What kind of a love pushes you through hardship? Always pushing you to the corner of shame, trying to prove you the idiot who doesn’t know how to make a living. Ya know, I rather sail on that ship and scat in that dark ocean with no guide, sink with it deep into my dreams but never listen to these low-minded creeps and take their lame advices.

My mighty hammer has been taken from me. Thor would be jealous to know mine. Every time I’m blocked and need it, I have to pass a challenge to reclaim it from the tomb, where they’ve put it away from my reach. There will be a set of challenges. Sometimes I fail, sometimes I win. Sometimes I break the block and walk through. But then there’s another one waiting just up ahead, and before I notice, the hammer is already gone and I’m blocked again. Even with the difficulty and boredom of repeating this process for a seemingly never ending period, I still keep going, trying to make my way through, struggling to stay on my way and don’t go astray. If only they let me, and things happen to be a little bit more in my favor, I will conquer this ocean and the sky above it in no time.

My greatest fear is lack of time. Not in that definition you might think. If things keep blocking me and they keep destroying my rays of hope, even though I never stop, time will go on and I won’t be able to conquer this ocean in time, and the fuel of my inspiration might run out and I never get to the skies. Nobody knows what’s going to come next. But I know what’s going to follow me. Despair, anxiety, and stress. Do I have to kill them? Would it be wasting time? I think I need a companion. Yes, I need someone by my side. God... that’s another challenge itself. I don’t have to find her, she’s right there. I only need to get to her. And that’s exactly the problem. She doesn’t even know that some lost sailor on this vast ocean is sailing with the seed of her love upon this clamorous tides. I’m afraid she won’t ever notice me among all others. The wind doesn’t sail on my favor. The waves never carry me there. I have to get there and this ship cannot make it on the water. I need to get it flying. But then there comes another list of questions: Am I going to get to her in time? What if she sails on someone else’s? As long as I keep dreaming, anxiety and despair may follow me. Does it mean if I stop they will stop coming after me too? Even if it’s true, I don’t wanna let go of my dreams. I will never stop! So follow me, anxiety and despair. Let’s see how long can you challenge me. Because no matter how long or hard, I will keep on breaking the walls and going. This ocean and sky above it are not mine... but they will have to know me!

Another day and another 24h of boredom and anxiety. I am terribly missing my moods. Having no sense for doing anything is making me feel like a walking statue. I am as much impatient as I can’t stand the tick-tock of the clock. I don’t even wanna go out and take a break from sitting and doing nothing. Not that I don’t want to, I don’t see any point to it!! Nothing has a color in my vision. Everything looks so black and white, so dry, so emotionless. It’s terrible, this feeling. It’s crashing the life out of me. It’s like the whole space around you, all things, from the very earth to the vast of the sky, the furniture, the walls, the windows, trees outside; the fallen leaves that hit the ground with a sound that’s louder than anything to my ears, the wind that swooshes through them, the very cold, clouds that every minute have something new to say; the air I breathe with is no more reliable to my lungs, they ask for something more alive. All that above is like a crowd of blaming people with pointing fingers of shame aiming at me like I am the source of everything wrong. All of them aside, the clock is unstoppably reminding me with every tick that my time is running out, and with every tock that it cannot be returned. Do you blame me too, Time? Do you think that I’m wasting you? Am I going to be cursed for that? Are you talking to me through this unpleasant sound of the passing of my life? Or... is all this imaginary just a part of me, locked inside somewhere in the bustle of my mind in a lonely corner that I’ve forgot to return to, that’s tapping out messages for me to hear? How can I reach you now? Please, scream a little louder.

 

The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had. Waiting for a new sun to rise, every dawn when I gaze upon the east, the brightness below the darkness that slowly sways the black away, light, dark, I like the shade of blue that borns in between. That’s my balance. Some favorite time of this 24 hours is right before the dawn. When there’s a poor sign of light coming up, the sky is still as dark as itself, the twilight. I wish it could stop. I wish that sun never comes up. When the world stops at that point, my time begins. Perhaps that’s why I’m making stories. Those that contain my kind of moods. Maybe I’m trying to escape the reality. I know a lot of people who are on the same course. But I don’t just wanna escape it. It is inevitable. Reality keeps chasing you down until you’re out of strength and it can stab you right through the chest, once and for all turn you into a slave without dreams.

Some people win this match and succeed to stab the reality back. Some just get alone with it, make it their strength, so it never becomes a weakness or nightmare from which they’re gonna escape. But I can’t get alone with it. Every time I arrived at the border, it found me and gave me a groove to remember that I can’t escape it. It has hurt me enough. I can’t stab it back, because there’s no point in that. It won’t heal any of my scars. If there’s one way to do it, I’ll find it. I want to destroy the reality!

You might think I’m the bad guy of the story. Sometimes I feel that so. But if you look a little more carefully and try to understand the bad guy's motive behind his malevolent actions, behind his many faces of resentment, you’ll see that there was, someday, at the beginning, never a bad guy. This white paper is stained with black ink. It can’t become clean, but it can become more black. That is not what’s happening behind the scene. Am I the bad guy? Am I the one who creates the bad guys and then the necessity of a hero makes me create one or two of them? There always has to be more heroes than the villain. Sometimes a group of good goes against one evil. Is it that the good feelings in this world are weaker than the bad? Does it mean that love, compassion, hope, desire, are nothing against the power of the dark, power of the hate?

I think I have a better description. Love is never stranger than when it is combined with rage. Seek the truth behind one's motives. See what is there that’s turning them into a machine for destruction. Look behind my smile and see the mountain of Rue in the far horizon that’s becoming the king of my background. I’m only afraid you can’t see it through the many personalities I’ve got. I’m happy, I’m sad, I’m strong, I’m bad, partially ignorant, sometimes you find me so loving, other times you rather let me be and stay away. My god I feel like I’m lost in the many persons I am. There’s no single moment I’m not playing as somebody else. I think... I’m losing myself. Now there’s this question: is this the good guy, or the bad guy? I cannot recognize myself anymore. I only know, somewhere down in the world within my chest, a part of me is screaming out for help. He is dying. Is it the reality that’s pushing hard, or is it my dreams that I’m drowning too deep into?

 

Sometimes I don’t know how to begin with things stuck in my mind. There are more than just a pattern but I can’t see any of them. Sometimes I just think maybe wandering is the best thing I can do. Wandering and taking notes. Everything can become a story in my vision. Why not, it’s easier to create things when there’s no pattern. Instructions enslave you to one's own kind of thinking. In this kind of description that I’m talking about, instructions mean nothing. Anyhow they’re not necessarily bad. I’m a better learner when there's nothing mandatory to follow. Self learning has a broader area to present. Maybe that’s why I hate patterns. But that doesn’t mean, on the other half, that I like to be in lead. Leadership was never in my favor. You may find me a better follower. Does this go against the part that I don’t like to follow the patterns? I don’t know. I’m still more complicated than I can put into words.

There are too many personalities living in me. All with different kinds of habits. Sometimes I find myself so loving and caring, sometimes people think that I’m as cold blooded as a stone would be, sometimes I can go so insane, most of the times I have super powers, lately I’m living in late 18th. And there are even more. See, I’m lost in a lot of versions of myself. But I’m still living it and it doesn’t feel bad. I’m gonna keep wandering and I’m gonna keep taking notes. Right now I can tell a story just out of the titles of my projects. Let’s see how many more I can get out of things.

 

Happens, sometimes very disturbing, mostly when I’m alone, hopeless with no motive to go on. Gets me thinking about terrible things that once done, there will be no room to regret. I don’t do many people wrong. But when I do, I am in the worst condition that may happen to somebody’s world. Your mind gets cracking, your heart stops beating, your limbs loosen, you try to find something and hang on to it, save yourself from sinking into depression. All things lose meaning. You become a bomb with timer set to "explode at any moment". Only one can save you. And if the one does not reach you in time...

I still survive. I don’t know how. How many more cracks my mind can handle? I burry it all inside the vast cemetery in my chest. I think there’s still room for more, but how how longer? What if I die? Can I Rest In Peace in the cemetery of suppression too? I look into that wasteland, the cemetery, and I see two graves and a rotten tree. On the gravestones carved my name. Me, and another me. They are dead long time ago. I had forgotten them ever since, but now that I recall, it’s sad to see how some great parts of me were given to the hands of oblivion. The first grave, there’s my name, "the one who wanted to fly". On the second one, also my name, "the one who wanted to dive into the stars". And there’s a third grave, dug and ready to take another part of me. The only me who is still alive, the one who is still strong and doesn’t want to be forced into a grave that his surrounders want for him.

I have been trying to keep myself breathing with writing, and they are still struggling to give me heart attacks. Worst happens when they manage an establishment in which you are very likely to finish yourself. Still, and with all of this hardship, I am willing to go on. Do I not deserve a big shiny medal of survival? The answer is probably yes, but there’s still this call... "how much more can you break?"

 

Sometimes happens that I miss something. I don’t even know what it is. I never had it before and now feels like it’s been missing forever. It’s a damn feeling, eating me up from inside. Feeling like there’s somebody that you want and you cannot even prove any signs of your emotions. No way, so you have to make one yourself. Happens sometimes... sometimes maybe when I’m in need of a partner so bad. Someone to sit by my side and say that there’s nothing to be worry about, someone to make you feel warm in the side, make you feel the existence of your heart, and whisper in your ear, "everything’s gonna be alright!"

How many people are there that feel like me? How many of them are still alive? Congratulations! If you have some sort of the same feeling beating up in side of your heart, I am like you, know that we are stronger than anybody else. Sounds emotional, sounds weird, sounds ridiculous, sounds crappy, whatever this feeling, well, you got it and there’s no denying that it’s living up to your soul.

Long I’ve tried to convince myself that this is lame. But if you can stop it from beating, then you can stop feeling anything. What can you do with the one that’s living inside of you? Everybody thinks that I’m made of Stone. Those that approach with a smile and lusty attitude, I see like an empty box. I don’t even look at them. When your heart targets the one, the rest of the world becomes meaningless. At least now I know that I’m living for something. There’s a saying, a man with three things is the luckiest man in the world. To have something to do, something to hope for, and someone to love. I have got the three things. But there’s no difference. I cannot be happy. I have something to do, but my job cannot be done here. I hope for a better future, but the more it goes, the more it fades away. I have someone in my heart, and she doesn’t even know that I love her, she doesn’t even know that I exist. Go on and try to blame me. I blame myself everyday. Ya know, I can survive this and even harder than this one. My only question is, why do I have to be broken so much, that when I finally reach the one, I must be carrying too many scars and too many broken pieces to be look like a fix of crap? Does that make you beautiful? How can something broken be stronger? Just don’t get up and try to tell me that the world is so much clearer and more vivid from the glasses that you got, and I need to get one. You should take them off and change your way of looking, then you may understand.

 

"Sorrow and I are best friends." I read that in the beginning of a paragraph and ignored the rest. Sorrow and I are best friends... what the hell? But here it is: Every night at 4 am exact, it creeps up on me. Sleeping beside me while my eyes are not close. Sorrow is hope whereas I am hopeless but not desperate for that kind of 'hope' if you can see. I live in the darkness but it never overcrowds my world. However sorrow has always been in the shadows drinking away the liquored taste of tears from me.

The best tears are told to be the tears of joy. Hmm, but they’re not as pure as those that are shed for sorrow. "Mine has always been a sigh, the sigh has always been a sign and that sign has never been found because the sigh was drowned in anger and no one listens to anger or sound. The sound has always been loud but the loudness has always been deaf to me. I don't know when sadness will leave, but when sadness leaves, another leaf falls from the trees."

 

By Apsana Miah

 

Sometimes you find some good descriptions in others view. Sometimes like that example above. I like how words are put together like a clue. You can always laugh at a couple's fight. But there are times that you see a particular scene and you stay quiet, watching that so deep. You’ll be lost in the feeling without knowing, is it love, is it joy, is it enthusiasm, is it pride or envy, or maybe a sip of all stored up into one emotion. I just know it’s calm. And that’s enough for me to know.

 

 

 


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