Can one suffer from somnolence of character?
I often dream of pulling my own teeth in front of large crowds. Dressed in a fine tuxedo, The orchestra beneath me plays swelling melodies that come to crashing crescendos as each tooth is pulled. I find myself completly at home in the opera house complete with beautifully ornate balconies and a lush red velvet curtain.
I can feel the warmth of my breath before I plunge my hand to grip the hard slippery enamel of my teeth. The crowd cheers as each tooth with much effort is ripped from my bleeding gums. the pain is intense and the cheers and laughter of the crowd is deafening. At the end of the teeth pulling, my lips part to reveal a hideous leaking bleeding attempt at a smile. I take a bow to the crowd and bid them goodbye with a gravitas that would humble a king.
Upon waking I find that my dream did not unsettle me, there was no sense of dread, no abject horror had descended upon my unconscious self. My nightmares are far more abstract, in that they are never remembered. I know not what frightens my subconscious, save that when a horrid thought enters my mind I usually can trace its roots into my walking life.
Even then my anxieties don’t consist of bodily harm. I don’t fear spiders, heights, closed spaces, ghost and I do not fear car crashes, nor dying at any moment, far be it in fact; I look at my death with a sense of wonder and acceptance. My fears however are oddly existential. The thought of being a lone entity in the world. being the single source of all things and being truly the center of a reality as I perceive it is to me a horrendous thought. I barely can handle the responsibilities put forth to me by social norms how am I to fathom that because I am at the center of my experiences and how they affect my world I am now a god. How am I to ignore that if I am at the center of my universe, then all of you, friends, family, lovers, all of you are all figments of my fevered imagination? How am I to define my existence if i am responsible for all of yours?
someone told me life is inherently empty, I am free to fill life with my pursuits and define purpose for myself. I find that at every attempt to further my self education, every attempt to define to myself what is worth living for, every time I pursue a dream I find that on the path of realizing it; it was never my dream to begin with. I pursue dreams provided to me by the powers that be, or by passing fancies. Is the point of life the chase? If so what does it speak to my character that at 21 I am dead-eyed wearied. Am I weak? will I always be tired?
If this is life, If I am to be pulling teeth for strangers, If my waking life and dreaming life begin to parallel, then my biggest fear is the dreams I don’t remember. what horror lies within my mind that it will not permit me to see. could it be that I am afraid of the unknown? could the thought of self mutilation for the amusement of crowds be a less terrifying thought than the advent of something unknowable?
Have I been slumbering my life away?