Someday I'll figure out what parts of me are safe for public consumption, but for now all I can seem to manage is, "It's gray outside, and the mood of the world is grim." For now, all I can do is write and hope that ideas come to me. I'm told it gets easier, but at the moment I'm not sure. I'm so tired. Just living feels exhausting right now, and I'm not even one of those people who works every day. How is everyone else able to handle it? Are they just living without being alive? I hope I never figure that out, and for their sakes I hope things get better.
It seems almost mean to point out how horrible things are, especially when you know that you have nothing to add. For me, this isn’t an act of addition or subtraction, it’s an act of defiance, an act of telling the world that even when it destroys any and all acts of creativity, I will keep writing. I will keep writing until I physically lose the ability to write, and even than I’ll just keep writing stories in my mind. I will write so long as defiance blooms in my heart, just as everyone will keep living so long as their lungs draw breath. In a world where most things will never know life, living is an act of defiance. Dreaming is an act of defiance. Believing our world can be better is an act of defiance.
So long as I live in this world I will suffer. Most of us have been forced to accept that. Having realized this, I’ve decided that I can either submit to a world where I’ll be neither safe nor happy, or I can turn into a person this world will never love. Not that it would love me even if I turned myself into its slave.
I’m a person who dreams of the impossible because the things this world expects you to want are insultingly superficial. Clothes, but nothing that will last or be comfortable, instead you’re supposed to get something you can wear all of one time to impress strangers who don’t actually care about you. Accessories? Perhaps, but nothing that says anything about you, only something that tells the world that you have something approaching status and power. Your title is supposed to say what you got that power for. I will never have a title, or lands, or a name in this world beyond the one I was given at birth. I can’t afford to be different than who I am now, this world has seen to it, and it won’t even let me dream of the things that would let me be the person I badly want to be. It insists that everyone dreams of being a very specific form of rich person; the kind that has all the money they could want but absolutely no personality. You see them all over, people who surround themselves with others they pay to do the thinking for them because any time they think, things in their general orbit tend to catch on fire. The worst part is, you have to let the person paying think that they’re smart, because the world insists that rich people got their power legitimately even though that isn’t true. You could be the most deserving person in the world, but wealth will still only be given to you through chance. The dream of wealth exists only because without it, our world would cease to be real.
I’m tired of living in this world. I hate the idea that I’m only supposed to do what I do if I can figure out how to turn it into a boon for the rest of humanity. I hate the rest of humanity. It’s full of people I can only think are willfully stupid, people who are so terrified of not being right they refuse to see what’s right in front of their faces. I may be wrong about a lot of things, but I’d rather be wrong than a member of the living dead. That’s what I would be if my right to dream was taken from me, either by those above me or by those below. I don’t care what anyone says, I’m a Dreamer and that’s that. I will dream of whatever I want whenever I want to, because if there’s one thing this world can’t take away from me it’s the idea that somewhere it’s still possible to make your dreams come true. I may be crazy for believing this, but I’ll believe it regardless, because if I stop believing in it than I may as well die.
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