I Stopped Dreaming

I don’t know when it happened but I’ve stopped dreaming. I don’t mean not having dreams while sleeping, but dreaming of things for myself and my loved ones. I’ve not dreamt of success, accolades, relationships or really anything for a long while. It kind of crept up on me and we don’t have to talk about how I only realized this after my therapist asked me if I’ve daydreamed about things I’ve wanted recently.

I used to dream about a lot of things, none of them very very plausible, but that’s the nature of dreams, isn’t it? I dreamt of new and exciting places, I dreamt of passionate love, I dreamt of so many things. And I truly did want those things, unrealistic as they may have been (look, it’s just not realistic that I would be an author, actress, sex symbol and university professor all at once). I used to make Pinterest mood boards for the most outrageous hypothetical situations, I used to make playlists for all the (very bad) novels and stories I was thinking of writing, and I used to be optimistic, goddamnit.

After this harrowing revelation came the realisation that at some point I also stopped wanting things. Or, more accurately I stopped allowing myself to want things, which is probably the sadder version of the story.

There’s this amazing quote from a Longreads article called “Ugly, Bitter, and True” by Suzanne Rivecca (which you absolutely should read, it is truly great) that goes like this:

“I don’t know what’s going to come out of me,” I told her. “It has to be perfect. It has to be irreproachable in every way.”

“Why?” she said.

“To make up for it,” I said. “To make up for the fact that it’s me.”

When I first read this (which, in the spirit of honesty, was a pretentious tumblr quote post but I did read the entire article after) it really struck me. The article is more about creativity and creative block (and also mental health), but I feel like this sentiment is relevant to probably every facet of my life and who I am as a person.

I cannot allow myself to want things, I cannot allow myself to dream of things because in everything I do, I have to make up for the fact that it’s me wanting those things, it’s me dreaming of those things. And I think, deep-down, I don’t believe I deserve to want, to dream, to desire.

Now, I do realise that this is something I should bring up with my therapist and process accordingly, and I will, but writing has always been an important outlet for me. And it is quite a leap that you, dear reader, are even reading this because these feelings of being inadequate and not allowing myself to want things has barred me from writing, let alone letting anyone read whatever I’ve written.

I hope that I can learn to dream again. And most of all, I’d like to want things again. Perhaps I’ll start with dreaming of dreaming and wanting itself and move on to bigger things.