On the Subject of Dreams
Dreams reveal to us our suppressed desires. It goes to show that I'm perfectly capable of being rational sometimes (ie, I can suppress weird desires), like when I'm in the immediate moment; after all, my functionality as an acceptable human depends on my responding to immediate stimuli in a rational way. It's only when I dwell on the world inside my head that I start to spiral out into psychosis-land.
A while back I met a boy who was wonderful and perfect. It felt delightful to converse with him - and a rare comfort! - and I had a fun fun fun time hanging out with him and his friends. Unfortunately, there was zero chance of him ever being in my life, and besides he had a significant other. So I did the rational thing of enjoying the few days I had, not even bothering to enlist him as a long-term friend. Which he would have been for sure. I'm very good at being a (non-sexual) friend when occasion (and conscience :-p) demands.
I hadn't thought about him much since then, except in odd moments of pain. Example: one of our pledges has the same name and ethnicity as one of his friends whom I met, and it's a somewhat unusual name for that ethnicity. I immediately loved this pledge the minute I met him/her at rush, and there was that inexplicable pang when I heard his/her name called out during formal pledging ceremony.
What had happened was that I had fallen in love with one particular evening when everything was exciting and fun. By association, I must have fallen in love also with the boy, and I even went so far as to fall in love with that boy's friends. This is how deep my psychosis runs! It was made clear to me a few nights ago when I dreamed that the boy was in my life again, in a very bittersweet dream.
I woke up and analyzed it. Yes, this is a running theme: I often mistake fun for love. The same thing happened with Asshole #1; he was one of the few boys who was able to show me a good time. I've been aware of this for a while. If I think really hard about it, the evening I spent with the No Hope Boy was a lot more fun than the evenings I spent with Asshole #1...
...so why is it that I'm so obsessed with the wrong person? It's only because he had hurt me so grandly and spectacularly. That is the only reason I'm clinging to him, because excepting that, I know that there are better men out there.
So the mind is sick beast. In conclusion. I understand mine pretty well, but does that make any difference? Not a whit.
A while back I met a boy who was wonderful and perfect. It felt delightful to converse with him - and a rare comfort! - and I had a fun fun fun time hanging out with him and his friends. Unfortunately, there was zero chance of him ever being in my life, and besides he had a significant other. So I did the rational thing of enjoying the few days I had, not even bothering to enlist him as a long-term friend. Which he would have been for sure. I'm very good at being a (non-sexual) friend when occasion (and conscience :-p) demands.
I hadn't thought about him much since then, except in odd moments of pain. Example: one of our pledges has the same name and ethnicity as one of his friends whom I met, and it's a somewhat unusual name for that ethnicity. I immediately loved this pledge the minute I met him/her at rush, and there was that inexplicable pang when I heard his/her name called out during formal pledging ceremony.
What had happened was that I had fallen in love with one particular evening when everything was exciting and fun. By association, I must have fallen in love also with the boy, and I even went so far as to fall in love with that boy's friends. This is how deep my psychosis runs! It was made clear to me a few nights ago when I dreamed that the boy was in my life again, in a very bittersweet dream.
I woke up and analyzed it. Yes, this is a running theme: I often mistake fun for love. The same thing happened with Asshole #1; he was one of the few boys who was able to show me a good time. I've been aware of this for a while. If I think really hard about it, the evening I spent with the No Hope Boy was a lot more fun than the evenings I spent with Asshole #1...
...so why is it that I'm so obsessed with the wrong person? It's only because he had hurt me so grandly and spectacularly. That is the only reason I'm clinging to him, because excepting that, I know that there are better men out there.
So the mind is sick beast. In conclusion. I understand mine pretty well, but does that make any difference? Not a whit.
posted by Rex at 1:24 AM
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