Perchance to Dream
“If I
had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because
everything would be what it isn’t. And
contrary wise, what is, it wouldn’t be.
And what it wouldn’t be, it would.
You see?” – Alice in Wonderland
It seems I cannot recall a time when I was not
dreaming of something. When my imagination took control and I could not
tell the difference between the dialogue within my own faulty brain and that of
what was before me. Doctors, Therapists, and others have often asked me,
when I try to explain to them what is going on inside my head, "Well how
long has the voices been occurring?" How can I answer that when even my
earliest memories are filled with what I perceived as my reality and others
would simply shrug it off, turn away and give a
blasé explanation "It's just your over active
imagination." Well of course it's my imagination but can you tell me
where the off button or at least a pause happens to be?
I can't give you a date or an age when I was first transferring myself between reality and fantasy. I cannot pin point an exact time or place. This imagination so to speak, was often my only solace. While hell was breaking loose around me in various forms of realities nuances, down the rabbit hole I would go, to where anything for me was possible. The voices in my head the only people, and I say people as each voice to me each was, in fact, an individual, who truly accepted me, didn't find me out of sync with reality, or simply hard to handle, and certainly not a one of them would look down upon me and my follies. I felt safe, secure, and confident amongst other emotions with those who existed within my brain then I did actually encountering people from reality. In truth, to interact with an average person, let alone several made me not only anxious, but frantic. My depression was more likely to magnify in ways that I did not know how to control. I would be around people and stammer, or pull at my clothes. I would get dehydrated quickly or my head would begin to hurt. I would often find myself acting out in extreme fashions because I so desperately wanted to be accepted and could not see any way for the "normal" person to accept me for who I perceived myself to be.
I would look in the mirror and see nothing but a picture askew. Where was the beautiful fairy tale princess longed to be? Where was the super heroine who was strong, independent and confident enough to rescue those who could not defend themselves? Why did the reflection show so much ugliness and pain? How could I escape it? Why couldn't I become someone completely different? Why was there so much guilt written upon her face, that she could not even feel the sunshine as warmth. It's been this way for as long as I can remember. Fighting for answers within myself, blaming myself for anything bad that could happen, acting outrageous or self-destructive causing myself harm so I could simply loose who I was instead of facing the darkness that seemed to seep from me; pushing those who would care for me away, and fighting them when in truth I was not fighting them at all but in fact the demons that would not let go.
How do you answer those who say to you “Let go of the past and live in the now,” when they cannot see the nightmares that float before your eyes, whether sleep or awake? When you simply feel haunted, wishing you could shut yourself into a box and simply lock it all away. I have spent so many years running. Maybe it has not always been physical trying to escape but to do so emotionally and mentally. Locking the pain deep where no one could notice. It's easy to become invisible to where you fade within the wallpaper so that you are not noticed. Why show the weakness. Instead curl up in the dark where no one could see as you cried yourself to sleep. It's obviously your fault you are like this. Yet you cannot seem to let go of the silence; the darkness causing you to lash out defensively. Don't show emotion for to do so means you can get hurt. Something you will not allow. Run. Hide. Fall away till you are no more than a random thought in someone's memories.
But when does the running, the other reality you have built around yourself stop? How do you learn that you don't need to touch things around you to feel grounded in this reality? To know that in fact this is NOT a dream; that the voices are simply voices within your head. How can you learn to tell the difference from the memories you created and the memories of truth, when to you both are real. When you can look at a person and see friendship, caring and respect. That they do not in fact see the damaged goods you are. I am still trying to find my way through the maze. It's a struggle each day to not blame myself for the choices others have made in their lives, both past and present. I am so used to constantly questioning why a person would wish to be friends with someone like me, let alone have a relationship. To thrusting the walls and striving to push them away from me before them in truth gave up on me and walked away as I was not "good enough."
I fight the darkness that surrounds so much of my thoughts. Days when I wish I could just stop fighting and simply fall asleep. Perchance to dream and wish the fairytale my reality; instead I am labeled as Dissociative Disorder, ADHD, Epileptic, Manic Depressive, Manic Social Anxiety amongst many other labels and stigmas that seem to pile upon my soul. Sometimes I wish I could simply act like a librarian and file all the labels away. In my dreams it feels as if I am standing there while labels upon labels are attached to my form with post-it notes, but then the dream ends and I wake up once more. So the struggle continues. Does this mean my pains and struggles are any worse or greater than my fellow man? Not at all, but it is my battleground upon which I take up my sword and become my own Knight, fiercely driven upon my hero’s quest to right all rights, and defend those who are oppressed and do not have the strength , or will, to defend themselves.
Shakespeare said it best with his To Be or Not to Be Soliloquy:
“To die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely,
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,” (Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1)
I can't give you a date or an age when I was first transferring myself between reality and fantasy. I cannot pin point an exact time or place. This imagination so to speak, was often my only solace. While hell was breaking loose around me in various forms of realities nuances, down the rabbit hole I would go, to where anything for me was possible. The voices in my head the only people, and I say people as each voice to me each was, in fact, an individual, who truly accepted me, didn't find me out of sync with reality, or simply hard to handle, and certainly not a one of them would look down upon me and my follies. I felt safe, secure, and confident amongst other emotions with those who existed within my brain then I did actually encountering people from reality. In truth, to interact with an average person, let alone several made me not only anxious, but frantic. My depression was more likely to magnify in ways that I did not know how to control. I would be around people and stammer, or pull at my clothes. I would get dehydrated quickly or my head would begin to hurt. I would often find myself acting out in extreme fashions because I so desperately wanted to be accepted and could not see any way for the "normal" person to accept me for who I perceived myself to be.
I would look in the mirror and see nothing but a picture askew. Where was the beautiful fairy tale princess longed to be? Where was the super heroine who was strong, independent and confident enough to rescue those who could not defend themselves? Why did the reflection show so much ugliness and pain? How could I escape it? Why couldn't I become someone completely different? Why was there so much guilt written upon her face, that she could not even feel the sunshine as warmth. It's been this way for as long as I can remember. Fighting for answers within myself, blaming myself for anything bad that could happen, acting outrageous or self-destructive causing myself harm so I could simply loose who I was instead of facing the darkness that seemed to seep from me; pushing those who would care for me away, and fighting them when in truth I was not fighting them at all but in fact the demons that would not let go.
How do you answer those who say to you “Let go of the past and live in the now,” when they cannot see the nightmares that float before your eyes, whether sleep or awake? When you simply feel haunted, wishing you could shut yourself into a box and simply lock it all away. I have spent so many years running. Maybe it has not always been physical trying to escape but to do so emotionally and mentally. Locking the pain deep where no one could notice. It's easy to become invisible to where you fade within the wallpaper so that you are not noticed. Why show the weakness. Instead curl up in the dark where no one could see as you cried yourself to sleep. It's obviously your fault you are like this. Yet you cannot seem to let go of the silence; the darkness causing you to lash out defensively. Don't show emotion for to do so means you can get hurt. Something you will not allow. Run. Hide. Fall away till you are no more than a random thought in someone's memories.
But when does the running, the other reality you have built around yourself stop? How do you learn that you don't need to touch things around you to feel grounded in this reality? To know that in fact this is NOT a dream; that the voices are simply voices within your head. How can you learn to tell the difference from the memories you created and the memories of truth, when to you both are real. When you can look at a person and see friendship, caring and respect. That they do not in fact see the damaged goods you are. I am still trying to find my way through the maze. It's a struggle each day to not blame myself for the choices others have made in their lives, both past and present. I am so used to constantly questioning why a person would wish to be friends with someone like me, let alone have a relationship. To thrusting the walls and striving to push them away from me before them in truth gave up on me and walked away as I was not "good enough."
I fight the darkness that surrounds so much of my thoughts. Days when I wish I could just stop fighting and simply fall asleep. Perchance to dream and wish the fairytale my reality; instead I am labeled as Dissociative Disorder, ADHD, Epileptic, Manic Depressive, Manic Social Anxiety amongst many other labels and stigmas that seem to pile upon my soul. Sometimes I wish I could simply act like a librarian and file all the labels away. In my dreams it feels as if I am standing there while labels upon labels are attached to my form with post-it notes, but then the dream ends and I wake up once more. So the struggle continues. Does this mean my pains and struggles are any worse or greater than my fellow man? Not at all, but it is my battleground upon which I take up my sword and become my own Knight, fiercely driven upon my hero’s quest to right all rights, and defend those who are oppressed and do not have the strength , or will, to defend themselves.
Shakespeare said it best with his To Be or Not to Be Soliloquy:
“To die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely,
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,” (Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1)
So into the pages of Shakespeare and his follies do
I fall and lest I not wake upon the morning light, let my dreams become sheaves
that turn the pages of time and memory, for down the rabbit hole I do tumble
and fall, where upon I shall look for my world of nonsense leaving behind my
heart-aches and pains.
As I take my
final bow, I leave you with the words of certain Shakespearean sprite:
“If we shadows have
offended,
Think
but this and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearnéd luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call:
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.”
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearnéd luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call:
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.”
(Midsummers Night's Dream, Puck's Final
Speech)
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