Dreams Never Realized

I’m the dreamer who never lived. I’m the dreamer stuck in her head. Still trying to survive. Got caught up in the 9 to 5…so to speak. Still trying to fit in. Trying to be normal so to speak. Whatever that is.

The artist that lives somewhere deep in my heart has been buried so deep and may never be realized in this life.

Why? Money is one reason. I have to survive. Go to work and pay my bills. No time or energy left at the end of the day to pursue what makes me happy. Have to clean, do laundry, take care of my dog and cat. The normal things people do. Something has to give. I’m getting older.

I wonder if others have similar dreams? Music is my first love, then art. I like to write too.

I very much want to say everything. Everything that I’ve been holding inside for years.

I’ve suffered a very long debilitating battle with bi-polar disorder since I was diagnosed at 23 yrs old. I am now 50 yrs old. I’ve had numerous nervous breakdowns over the past 27 yrs. and have been hospitalized many times.

It’s a long story. It all started sortly after I was pushed into a cultlike religion by my mother when I was still a teenager.

Anyway, I never felt free to be me and do what I wanted with my life which caused me to sink into a deep depression.

Now many years later, I still am dreaming the same dreams I had as a child. To be an artist or performer in some way.

It’s a very tiring and naging dream that won’t go away. I thought that I would outgrow it. I thought that it would leave me alone one day. This dream I have in my head.

I thought maybe by writing about it that it would help. It’s so hard to hold a job when you want to stay up late and write and play music.

It’s hard to manage an illness you hide from people at work because you don’t want them to judge you because you have a mental illness. And believe me, people do judge.

I mostly stay home anymore. I don’t go out much. My only daughter moved to Los Angeles last year. I’ve been divorced a long time. I had a couple boyfriend’s over the years since my divorce. I’ve been single for the last 3 yrs. and I don’t want a relationship still. I’m bored with my city I live in.

I want to move to Los Angeles to be near my daughter and try to pursue my dreams before the door will be completely closed for me because I’m too old.

But money is the issue. It’s so hard to let go of my dreams. Why can’t I just grow the fuck up? I struggle with this still since I was a child.

I always would daydream of dancing as a young girl. Dancing made me happy and I enjoyed it so much. It was music that moved me. My true love was always music. But I never pursued it.

I was not encouraged to pursue my dreams or go to college or to even get a job like most people because of the religion that I was pushed into when I was young.

Anyway, here I am sitting here on my sofa tired after work, have to clean the messes my dog and cat left for me and a pile of dishes and laundry waiting to be done. My back and hip hurts after being on my feet all day. But that’s life right? Trying to make a living meanwhile dreams fade and slip away and before you know it, your dead…lol.

Sounds depressing and morbid but I know I’m not the only one who thinks this. And for those that are happy with their normal boring jobs and lives, God bless you and more power to you.

I’m trying still to be like them sadly enough. But after 7 or more nervous breakdowns that I can remember, and “breaking on thru to the other side” so to speak, I will probably never be normal.

And when I come to think of it, why do I want to be? I just wonder sometimes what kind of artist I could have been if the religion and mental illness and trying to survive didn’t get in my way?

From age 23yrs to about 35 I was bed ridden with debilitating depression. So terribly deep I’m lucky I didn’t kill myself.

I thought about it often but never really tried. I truly understand why some people take their own life. I pulled myself up from the depths of Hell and am now much more mentally healthy and strong but I lost my youth.

I call them my beautiful years. I was called beautiful and gorgeous when I was younger and had a killer body to boot. But none of that mattered because I was as good as crippled like someone without legs in a wheelchair. I couldn’t even get up to bathe myself sometimes when the depression was so deep.

As a result I became incredibly spiritual. At a point the medicine only helps so much. I prayed so hard on my hands and knees one night I even saw white light, no joke.

Anyway, I’m lucky to be here and alive and thankful as well. But this nagging dream won’t leave me alone. I know I was born an artist. But I’ve got to realize that life is a continuum and that whatever I don’t accomplish in this life that I can continue on in the next.

That it will all be ok in the end and if it’s not ok, it’s not the end. John Lennon said that not me…lol

So, ok now I feel a little better now. Thanks for tunning in. To be continued I don’t know when. Oh by the way, I turned to positive psychology to help me and it really has been a great help but every now and then I got to be real and speak my truth.