I had the most spectacular dream last night. It sort of went back a little ways and like my life took a completely different path. I don’t know what I was doing for work, but I was obviously doing better than I am now. It took gentle skips ahead in time. I met a girl - an amazing one at that, got married, had 2 kids, watched them grow up, watched my wife and I grow old, our kids have kids, their kids have kids, then it was over. It was extremely vivid. Lots of details. It was so very real, I fell apart when I woke up and realised that wasn’t my life. I barely held together today. Thankfully I didn’t have to do much human interaction, but when I did, I was able to fake smiles as always. I’m a little too good at that. I’ve been on the couch since I got home. Dog hasn’t left my side, except to eat.
What kills me most, is that I know there’s a high likelihood that the dream will never become a reality, in any sense. I haven’t dated anyone since October, and other than the… whatever it was with M, haven’t dated anyone in a few years.
J has always been very supportive and kind when my mind has gone down this road. She’s incredibly kind. She tells me that I deserve better and deserve to be happy. I know she’s right. I know I can do better than this. I know I can meet someone. I just don’t know how. And now that my mind is a complete train wreck, I really don’t know where to turn or what to do.
If I were back home, I’d have more friends, I’d not be confining myself to the house so much, being so reclusive. I’d be out. I’d be being social. I’d end up meeting someone through them.
I don’t have that here. I don’t have that support network. I love this area, I love the views, not so much most of the people and politics, but this is home now. I’m considering that I may have made a massive mistake coming here. I won’t deny that the reason that persuaded me to move here was a MASSIVE mistake. Despite knowing I’d likely never have left my home town, never even seen the Seattle area, I am, now, 8 years later, regretting moving here. I could go back. I could sell this house and get enough for it to buy something far better back home. I would be starting over again, though. I don’t like that idea. Plus, I know that things have changed a lot since I left. It was hard as hell to be there after my grandma died in 2013. Dad’s dead. Grandma’s dead. Several friends have died. People have moved. The places I used to be at home and relaxed are no longer in the hands of people I know. Save one. My friend out in the country. We used to have bonfires at her house, watch the night sky, and have good conversation. I miss that. Although now, considering I can’t be bothered to drive 10 minutes by myself to go look for new clothes, I question if I would have that motivation to drive 30 minutes to her house.
What’s wrong with me? How in the hell have I let things get this fucked up? I never meant to let myself get so isolated. I’ve not even seen K in weeks, and she lives 4 blocks away. It seems like this all just happened quickly, but I know that isn’t the case. I know that this has been happening over time, slowly, progressively, gradually. This is a prison of my own construction. I’ve done this to myself. I blame no one else, only myself.
To steal a line from Mumford & Sons, “I really fucked it up this time, didn’t I, my dear?”