"Loose your dreams and you will loose your mind
In life unkind".
Rolling Stones, "Ruby Tuesday".
I never have had a problem not dreaming. I love dreaming. I keep a tape recorder and a note pad by bed when I wake so I can write down my dreams.
Lately, all my dreams have been like something out of a Jungian nightmare, old family trips, school, all surrounded in symbols. But nothing about the future. No dreams, no hopes, no nothing.
The other day I got a piece of spam that said in the header 'Are you living or existing". Oh that was easy. Existing. Not living. Because I don't have any dreams to live for. Not anymore.
Or in other words, I do not know what dreams to dream to live for. The ones I had as a child and a woman in my twenties are gone. I can re build them again, like the Six Million Dollar Man, stronger and better than they were.
"And if your hopes should pass away/
That you can build them again".
Simon and Garfunkel, "Hazy Shade of Winter".
I always was able to take shattered dreams and rebuild them. Not a problem. Easy. But now, it's all the dreams have shattered my hands like holding on to broken glass. My writing, bits and pieces, lie in the trash can, like some type of abortion. Just a little mouse click, and they are gone, forever. Little whispy ghosts on the ethernet of the hard drive. I know my illness has turned me into a gifted and talented writer in my 20s, with so much promise and a book offer, to someone who can barely string two sentences together. I doubt now I can even write, let alone see that level again. What do I do if my brain turns on me and this last desire fails?
...Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build....
Anne Sexton, "Wanting to Die".
I'm not suicidal. I just don't know what to do with the remaining 40 years of my life.
How do you rebuild if you don't know what to rebuild in the first place?