nightmares
I had to write a blog for english pertaining to what we were reading. I've never been one to follow instructions so this has very little to do with Frankenstein and a whole hell of a lot to do with my personal problems. Also, Persona 4. So here's a crosspost of that. It's a little vague because I sort of assume that nobody I know has ever played Persona, etc.
When I sleep, I have nightmares, and that's a pretty personal thing. It's already awkward enough talking about dreams, even when they're funny, or interesting, or utterly bizarre to the point of being worth sharing. We've all had that moment where we blurt out, "So, I had a dream about you," and then halfway through the story you just don't want to tell it anymore. It's too, too -- too close. Too warped, too you, to tell anyone, so, "and then I woke up." But you didn't. You didn't wake up. You just didn't want to tell them the rest. Maybe it's just me that does this.
I have this fear, you see, that everyone can tell what I'm thinking. There's this part of me that is so terrified that my soul is open, bare and beating somewhere in the cavity of my chest, and there's nothing protecting it. Like skin and muscle and ribs just peel back to anyone who wants to take a look at my secrets, and there's nothing I can do. I'm mentally pawing at my innards trying to make myself decent, pulling these metaphorical sheets over my naked soul. I live with this fear always. I shield my thoughts. I don't daydream. I'm a nervous wreck.
I can see where this behavior comes from. I can piece together parts of my childhood and parts of my personality that lend themselves to it, but that doesn't stop it from happening -- this paranoia that doesn't have a name. The worst part of it is the self awareness, the idea that something is wrong because something is wrong; what do I have to hide, after all? What is it in my thoughts -- myself -- that I am so ashamed of, that I hide it essentially even from me? Realistically, there is nothing. There is no one that cares about my opinions on oranges and dancing rabbits -- the silly fabrications of my wandering mind. But to me they are everything, they are my thoughts, and maybe a part of me wants them to be important. Maybe a part of me wishes that they were important so badly that I have to shove them into the darkest corners of my consciousness to cope.
So when I sleep, I have nightmares.
Dreams have been a source for enlightenment as well as confusion for thousands of years; the act of interpreting them has become a sort of art in many cultures. Like our thoughts, they are intensely personal moments. Maybe this is why sharing them is so awkward, and maybe this is why I have them so often -- I don't allow room for it during the day.
But what of these nightmares are so scary? Usually nothing -- there are no monsters, I am not being chased. There is just this deep, unsettling feeling that settles throughout, and I wake up afraid. A teacher once told me that dreams are leftover synapses -- the remnants of incomplete thoughts and images we have throughout the day, throughout our lives. (The poem "Blurry Cow" in our Literature book defines this type of moment, but I was unfortunately unable to find an online copy of it to link to here.) What does that make these nightmares then? Are they what I have suppressed during the day? It's almost as if our dreams are the manifestations of the things we deny in ourselves -- in my case, the thoughts I am afraid to finish, and the ones I don't want other people to hear.
The parts of ourselves we deny as monsters isn't really a new concept. In fact, this blog post was inspired by a video game where the point was to fight these monsters -- corruptions of people's "shadows" -- the name given to the parts of themselves they denied. Up until a person denied them, the "shadows" resembled them in every way. It was only after the person started to reject that part of themselves that the "shadows" manifested as literal monsters, and in some cases, ended up killing the person in question.
My question here is whether or not this happens in real life. Do the things we fear in ourself manifest as "monsters" that can harm us in a physical sense? Or do they just torture our inner selves? Alex F. proposed the idea that Frankenstein's monster existed only in his head, an argument that's easy to get behind if you can find a way to excuse the only true physical evidence of his existence (I don't want to spoil the book here, but Walton mentions it to his sister at the end as the reason he believed Frankenstein's tale, if you've finished the book and are confused.) If this were true, it'd be easy to argue that our inner demons can cause physical harm, to ourselves and others through our own lashing out. What are your thoughts?
When I sleep, I have nightmares, and that's a pretty personal thing. It's already awkward enough talking about dreams, even when they're funny, or interesting, or utterly bizarre to the point of being worth sharing. We've all had that moment where we blurt out, "So, I had a dream about you," and then halfway through the story you just don't want to tell it anymore. It's too, too -- too close. Too warped, too you, to tell anyone, so, "and then I woke up." But you didn't. You didn't wake up. You just didn't want to tell them the rest. Maybe it's just me that does this.
I have this fear, you see, that everyone can tell what I'm thinking. There's this part of me that is so terrified that my soul is open, bare and beating somewhere in the cavity of my chest, and there's nothing protecting it. Like skin and muscle and ribs just peel back to anyone who wants to take a look at my secrets, and there's nothing I can do. I'm mentally pawing at my innards trying to make myself decent, pulling these metaphorical sheets over my naked soul. I live with this fear always. I shield my thoughts. I don't daydream. I'm a nervous wreck.
I can see where this behavior comes from. I can piece together parts of my childhood and parts of my personality that lend themselves to it, but that doesn't stop it from happening -- this paranoia that doesn't have a name. The worst part of it is the self awareness, the idea that something is wrong because something is wrong; what do I have to hide, after all? What is it in my thoughts -- myself -- that I am so ashamed of, that I hide it essentially even from me? Realistically, there is nothing. There is no one that cares about my opinions on oranges and dancing rabbits -- the silly fabrications of my wandering mind. But to me they are everything, they are my thoughts, and maybe a part of me wants them to be important. Maybe a part of me wishes that they were important so badly that I have to shove them into the darkest corners of my consciousness to cope.
So when I sleep, I have nightmares.
Dreams have been a source for enlightenment as well as confusion for thousands of years; the act of interpreting them has become a sort of art in many cultures. Like our thoughts, they are intensely personal moments. Maybe this is why sharing them is so awkward, and maybe this is why I have them so often -- I don't allow room for it during the day.
But what of these nightmares are so scary? Usually nothing -- there are no monsters, I am not being chased. There is just this deep, unsettling feeling that settles throughout, and I wake up afraid. A teacher once told me that dreams are leftover synapses -- the remnants of incomplete thoughts and images we have throughout the day, throughout our lives. (The poem "Blurry Cow" in our Literature book defines this type of moment, but I was unfortunately unable to find an online copy of it to link to here.) What does that make these nightmares then? Are they what I have suppressed during the day? It's almost as if our dreams are the manifestations of the things we deny in ourselves -- in my case, the thoughts I am afraid to finish, and the ones I don't want other people to hear.
The parts of ourselves we deny as monsters isn't really a new concept. In fact, this blog post was inspired by a video game where the point was to fight these monsters -- corruptions of people's "shadows" -- the name given to the parts of themselves they denied. Up until a person denied them, the "shadows" resembled them in every way. It was only after the person started to reject that part of themselves that the "shadows" manifested as literal monsters, and in some cases, ended up killing the person in question.
My question here is whether or not this happens in real life. Do the things we fear in ourself manifest as "monsters" that can harm us in a physical sense? Or do they just torture our inner selves? Alex F. proposed the idea that Frankenstein's monster existed only in his head, an argument that's easy to get behind if you can find a way to excuse the only true physical evidence of his existence (I don't want to spoil the book here, but Walton mentions it to his sister at the end as the reason he believed Frankenstein's tale, if you've finished the book and are confused.) If this were true, it'd be easy to argue that our inner demons can cause physical harm, to ourselves and others through our own lashing out. What are your thoughts?