letter to my dreams: be gone

Dearest dreams,

I couldn’t quite figure out which of you this prompt was referring to: you that I have at night, you that usually scare me, you that turn my reality inside-out, you that feature as stars those folks that in my real life are nothing more than extras on the movie set of my life; or you that I’ve consciously constructed in my mind when I’m fully awake, where the extras are extra, and the choices I’ve made keep you – both those from my slumber and from my musings – far away.

To the former, I say to you to please leave me alone. In my sleep is the only time I truly have to rest; the remainder of my hours are spent doing. Perhaps you are a reminder to me to quit packing my days, to take some time to be rather than to do, but I’d rather make that decision myself. I don’t need you to make it for me. You make me dread the night – you always have. For in addition to the strange occurrences you create, you leave behind emotions, emotions that I can’t understand, emotions that I can’t explain. When you dig into my subconscious, pulling up things that I’m not ready or willing to deal with, you leave me to suffer alone with no guidance, no way sometimes to separate you from reality. I get confused about what I feel and why. My life above what lies beneath is complicated enough. I’d rather you’d just let sleeping traumas, dilemmas, obsessions, pains, denials, and troubles…sleep.

To the latter: what can I say? I’m living my life now. I’ve wanted you my entire life and maybe I’ll get you one day. But I really want to stop wanting you. I want to stop thinking of you when I hear a less-than-not-talented performer on the radio. I want to stop thinking of you when I see a modern piece of trash art in a gallery. I want to stop thinking of you when I read a half-baked opinion piece commissioned for a website or a magazine. I suppose you’ll cease to be a dream once I have you, once I realize what I think you might be. And perhaps you are not as good as you seem. I just really wish I didn’t want you anymore. It would save me a lot of heartache.

So I guess this is all to say that I’m tired of you, dreams. I’m tired of the trouble you give me. I’m tired of the sleep-full nights filled with angst because of the all-too-real but so unrealistic scenes than blanket my midnights, arouse my emotions, and leave me awakened to anxiety, fear, and doubt. I’m tired of the self-battering that comes with the D-list artist mentality, one with some natural talent but little training who is on a path so far from ever being that starlet who’s voice is heard on the radio or whose work is featured in magazines and on gallery walls.

I want to be done with you forever. I’m here today, moving toward something, letting God take me where He may. Dreams, please get out of my way.

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