The Dormant Dreamer [Anywhere but here]

Run away

Sometimes, amidst the dark, I forget how to dream.

Go back and read some older posts. I challenge you to read beyond the face value and the convenience of reading the first few lines of this, writing it off, and going elsewhere on the interweb. You’ll see that I used to be someone who felt and thought and sometimes even dreamed. And I don’t mean the ghosts that haunt me in my sleep sometimes or the happy dreams that make me hate my existence when I wake up because those dreams I have no control over. Beyond the occasional inspiration, they’ve gotten me nothing but a crack that runs even further down the walls of my heart. My eyes? They’re harder to keep dry some nights.

I feel like i have to downplay how I feel to everyone, including my therapist because, as much as I dislike how I feel this time of year, I”m so used to it that I have all but given up. And I don’t want more medication; it’s hard enough to take the ones I have already.

Something happened. Somewhere between starting and finishing my bachelor’s degree I became this recluse. I spend my time hiding in my bedroom watching old TV shows on Netflix or I try and find random things to keep myself entertained. Before that I used to have friends and we used to go out to the bar or a coffee shop or… something. I was meeting new people all the time. Where did all those people go? They’re all married or have kids now which is fine but is this how life is supposed to feel for those of us who haven’t figured out how to find someone that doesn’t kill them slowly on the inside? I don’t know. I have reached that point again where the idea of a relationship both scares me to death and pisses me off.

I don’t want to give up my independence or my space. It’s both a gift and a curse and if you don’t understand I’m not going to explain it to you.

There are so many things I wanted to do and there aren’t that many people approaching 30 who care about the kind of stuff that I care about. I want to be in a band, I want to write a book, I want to not spend every night in my room. I’ve been told I’ve got to go out there and I’ve got to make the connections because no one’s talking to anyone. If that’s the case then why does it seem everyone’s talking to everyone but me? That may sound like self-pity and it very well may be. At the same time, my anxiety has only gotten worse with time which makes social gatherings really difficult and I feel like any friend I make quickly becomes fair-weather or ceases to be my friend just because I don’t want to be what they want me to be.

I’m not a savior, i’m not just some idea. I gave up being perfect a long time ago and now I’m just trying to get along with just being me. Even that is a struggle some days. Most days. I think too much, I know too much and I can’t let go of the girl who dumped me 6 months ago because, emotionally, she took a piece of me and I can’t get it back. So, when I hear the song “Mullholland Drive” by The Gaslight Anthem, she’s the first thing I think of [“When you think about your life, are there things you would reverse?”].

It has struck me that, maybe, I should just start over. Sometimes, I feel like there’s nothing here for me anymore and I could leave and the only people who would probably even say anything are my family. I should just uproot myself and go to Grad School in Chicago like I planned to and find people there and maybe I wouldn’t feel so out of place, so distanced from everything and everybody. All I’ve really got here is a handful of friends, family and a job.

The dormant dreamer inside me wants a whole lot more than that. If I could wake him maybe things would be better. I’ve considered giving Omaha a year since I’ve just signed a lease on an apartment. I don’t know. I’m not usually one for ultimatums but if something good doesn’t happen soon I may just give up entirely and run away somewhere.

Anywhere but here.

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