I dream solely of compulsions, anxieties, and obsessions. I indulge in things so fully, without the limitations of my body. I display my uninhibited neurosis, I am completley mad.

I never slept well in your bed. I was afraid that I would admit one of my terrible secrets while sleeping next to you, that I would be found out. I couldn't dive into myself fully as I do alone, without the consciousness that The Other imposes. I'd wake up several times in the night, wishing I were boring and dull, that I had nothing to hide, so I could be peaceful.

I will not rest until I find a way to dispell all these things that live inside of me, until I confess. It makes me feel quesy, as if I could vomit, this anxiety. And as much as honesty as I expose, it never seems enough, it is never accurate. It is too irrational to translate, what I feel, what I see, what I dream. I fall into series of hells, nightmares.

I both fear and embrace the idea that I was simply born wicked, that I know no better, that it is who I am, and because of this, of this nature of whose disposition was not of my free will, and I feel innocent still. And I am beginning to realize that perhaps this is not the character of humanity, that this is an abnormality, the more that I speak of it to others.

I had a small fit two nights ago. I was having a cigarette and sitting by the open window. The shower was running. And then all of it was suddenly too much, there was too much sound, and I felt that I was caving in from it. I covered my ears and still it was there, this heaviness, and I was in horror of it. I have warded off this feeling in real life for a long time, while it still dictates my dream life. I have not felt such true darkness in a long time, and I remembered all of it, my sickness that I overcame. Every thought since then has been conscious, my attitude a choice, and a censorship of thoughts. I wonder if it will always be like this, if it will spring up again despite my fighting against it. Is there no cure for such things?