My Dreams

I have always been a dreamer. Ever since I was a child, I've preferred my dreams to the cold, ugly, boring and cruel "real world". Retreating into my thoughts saved me for a while, I suppose - it made me happy when I couldn't find happiness anywhere else - but it also undid me, I suppose, since I couldn't really deal with my reality; perhaps I expected too much from it. There was also the small matter of me conflating academic success and happiness, working my arse off for a happy future while neglecting the present.

After fucking up ending my life (yes, it was a big event) I had to learn quite a lot of lessons about just what life meant to me, namely that it was more than just sitting and working and doing the same things over and over again. I started reaching out to people more. I started thinking more. I looked at the dreams I had put aside and resolved to make them a reality. They made my life worth living at least - more than any duties could have done.

By doing more reaching out and thinking, my life got better. I'm not quite where I would like to be, and I probably never will be - but I'm getting closer. My dreams aren't quite coming true, but they too are getting closer, and I'm not going to part with them again.