Dreams Are More Real Than Anything in the “Real” World

I like this guy. His initials spell out the first 3 letters of his given name. Dominic Owen Mallory. DOM. Niiiiccce!

Anywayz. I LOVE what he said: “Dreams are more real than anything in the “real world.” That certainly feels true to me. In solitude, it is easier for me to block out reality (to deny it, if you must have the truth). Alone, I can be my truest self. Alone, I don’t have to prove myself. I can be the me I am in my head, all the time. With other people, no matter who they are, I tend to get a little worried about expressing myself correctly. It takes more courage than you know to open my mouth in front of a stranger… and even with the people I know and love, it’s hard. I hear one voice, and they hear another. I don’t know what’s wrong with my ears… maybe my brain is protecting me from the truth. Protecting me from utter devastation, from disappearing inside of myself. In solitude, I can dream, and those dreams become real in my head. It’s nice. It is only in denying everything I can truly be me.

“Refuse normalcy.” There was a time in my life when I would have embraced normalcy. And who knows, maybe I still would today. I don’t know. It’s so freaking hard being different in this world, where everything moves at warp speed. Now that I don’t have to deal with it unless I choose to, it’s easier. It’s easier to hide. I used to get so mad when people stared at me in public. I used to go running to my parents with this. My mom used to say they were just staring because they were jealous I was so beautiful. Ha ha. People still stare today. I mostly ignore them. What else can I do? This is part of the reason why I think printed cards would be a good idea. When I see someone staring I would hand one to them, and they would read it and be aware. They would be aware that not everything is as it seems. I don’t exactly embrace my disabilities today, but I have accepted them. They are a part of me. They have made me who I am.

There is, within me, a universe of potential. I need to dig into it. Exhaust it, as Dominic Owen Mallory instructs. I need to “live and love so immensely that when death [sweet release] comes, there is nothing left for him to take.” And I plan on doing just that, from this moment on.

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