I don't often reflect on "who I am" anymore, not as much as I did when I was a teenager, when I had bouts of conscious identity crises. During that time, I was obsessed when changing my gender, and my name. I was even seeking out anyone who could help me achieve this, because my mother just wouldn't understand me if I tried to talk to her about it. She would deliberately treat me as if I were insane and never try to help me, and she would just give up on me and let me be crazy, and allow me to make rash decisions, while also insulting me and calling me names. I dare say she didn't love me.

I still get those urges, to change myself entirely, to become someone else. My pseudonym is male. My characters are all male. My alter ego is male. My dream ego is often male. Whenever someone refers to me as a woman, I think that they must be mistaken. My boyfriend knows full well what and who I am. He knows I'm not like most women. He likes that about me, as long as I have breasts. When asked my gender on a form I need to fill out, I almost always mistakenly say "male." It's one of the hardest questions on a form for me to answer, interestingly enough. Even if asked about my greatest dreams and aspirations, which still confuses me to this day, I can answer such a thing far quicker than what gender I am.

People online identify me by a male first name. When I was younger I would enter chat rooms pretending to be male. I never got over this. It's still lingering around. My boyfriend would immediately abandon me if I became male. I know he would. He would be offended at hearing such a thing, but I know it's true. He'd ask how I could come to such a conclusion, why I'd think he was so heartless. He knows he'd leave me. He knows it.

These thoughts drive me to imagining suicide, so I suppress it. James needs me in his life, and I can't leave him alone. My best friend Ray needs me. I can't leave him either. It's them that I think about each day, it's what keeps me from offing myself. I pretend so much to be happy, that I love everything. It's eating away at me. The only way I can help it is by writing.

I don't know how I even got to this subject, or why I started ranting about it. I came here to talk about my nightmares. But I guess I already am. I feel like I'm living a nightmare sometimes.

Last night I had yet another dream of a sinister voice telling "me" to kill. I was playing the role of a young boy, a curious mind who had dark thoughts and dark intent. He seemed more than willing to listen to the voice than my current adult female self was before. Also, this "voice" was not a parasite as it once was, but it manifested itself as a literal demon that lived underground, a goat-headed monstrosity that I strangely didn't fear, but related to and got along with. Thankfully, this time, he didn't ask me to kill my friends. He started on an easier path. He asked me to kill a homeless man. He also gave me a gift; a necklace of some sort that carried a power that I was unfamiliar with. Though I was young and frail, the necklace allowed me to carry out his bidding without effort. I killed the homeless man, willingly. My greatest fear at first was being discovered by adults. I ran for cover, hoping they wouldn't find me. Eventually, I began killing so much to please this demon that I began to fear what I was doing. I had lost all control of myself, and it scared me. I shed so much blood that I couldn't remember how many lives I had taken. I eventually had some friends help me, other young, innocent boys my age. I told them about the demon and necklace. They seemed interested in assisting me. They too retrieved necklaces from the demon and helped me on my tasks. Eventually I felt I was going insane inside my own mind.

I woke up and forgot a great portion of the dream. I didn't want to make this entry public, mostly because of my personal business, but also because I don't need religiholics telling me it's a sign from God or something batshit insane like that.

What I do think it's telling me, though, is that I know something dark is in me, something very dark, and very powerful, but I won't release it. It stays hidden, underground, talking through me like I'm a puppet on its hand. I'm afraid of this darkness, just as I am in my dreams. It's not just sinister thoughts, but violent. My cravings to hurt others surfaces now and then, and so many times I've either broken objects or almost broken them in a fit of sudden, inexplicable rage. So often I think about how great, how amazing it would feel to batter the living hell out of someone, to beat them until their face is no longer recognizable, then beat them some more. I want blood on my hands, I want to cut life from an organism. I've developed an obsession with hunting, an unhealthy obsession, but more specifically the aspect of killing and gutting and skinning. Of butchering. To get blood on my hands in some way, blood that isn't human. Strangely enough, I try to convince myself that the act of killing is not what gives me a rush, but I know deep down that it is. If I were to kill a deer, of any age, or any size, gut it on my own, quarter and eat it later, it would be so satisfying.

Does that make me insane? Probably. Especially knowing that it would make me smile.

I play a lot of video games, but I've been wondering for a long time why my favorite games are those that involving riding mounts, such as horses or dragons. In games where collecting mounts, rideable, controllable vehicles, I obsessively collect these items. I need to have them. Why? Well, I couldn't tell you. The more I had, the happier I was, and I would use them all. The more exotic they were, the happier I was. My assumption lately was that it was because I felt powerful riding them, and had control over them. It might even be deeper than that. Come to find out that it could also mean unreleased sexual desires, unsatisfied sex acts. Having a stable full of rideable animals implies sexual urges and mental instability. The collection is linked to compulsion, neurosis, wanting and desiring power and control, but also wanting to have sex that I actually enjoy. I never get to fulfill my role as a male during sex. Vaginal sex is excruciatingly painful for me. I don't want it. I naturally reject it. I want sex in another form that I can't achieve. My sexual desires are getting tough to control. I'm sexually frustrated, perhaps even angry. I will never get to have it the way I want to. I will never be a guy, I will never get to have sex with another guy as one. All of these things are building up inside of me, and somehow it's turned into collecting these virtual items, where I'm riding imaginary creatures.

To say I'm neurotic wouldn't be saying enough.

Last night I was working hard on my current novel, one in which the two main characters both have psychological issues, ones which I studied and researched in fascination. Because these two characters are a bit like myself, only with extreme exaggerations in certain flaws, I started to realize I wasn't just looking up their problems, but also my own without even knowing it. One character is afflicted with Obsessive Love Disorder, as well as Borderline Personality Disorder. The other is a combination of controlling and avoidance Codependency. The first stems from abuse. The second stems from neglect. This led to a dream sequence involving many, many complex emotions combating against one another, each trying to justify both their existence and significance inside me. I've never been diagnosed with any of these disorders, but when reading them in detail, I felt excited that I found some details on how my characters could act, but I was also terrified, because the more I read, the more I started to think: "Hold on... this is me."

I didn't want to think about it, and pushed it out of my mind. I know of so many consequences involved in "self-diagnosis," one of them being it promotes creating excuses for negative traits and behavior. I don't want to make excuses for my behavior. It makes me seem lazy and incapable, and childish. Because of how eerie it felt to unintentionally read about myself, I did something else to distract me from bad thoughts. I don't know whether or not it was a good idea to do so, but all I know is that it caused a series of unsettling, bothersome dreams involving my inadequacy to deal with stressful situations.

There were roughly two large dreams in total. The first was about my family. My uncle was once like a father to me in my childhood when I didn't have one. I saw him recently, talked to him, and it felt good to see him. I wanted to bond with him more, to get to know him on a more personal level, but he seemed annoyed, stressed, and quiet. He was willing to talk with me, so I got him to explain his reasons for seeming so grumpy. He told me how much he hated his life, and his job, that, in short, it was a trial that he didn't want to be a part of. He had offered me a job with his company, which I gratefully accepted, and I never heard from him again, not about the job, or about anything. When trying to call, I never got a call back. I called my aunt to ask about it, and she also never contacted me. It's common for me to interpret such a thing as abandonment, and it hit me a lot worse than it would with a stranger because I saw him as a father-figure, a figure I deeply crave in my life. A bit crushed, I tried to forget about it, but now I feel rejection and sadness when something reminds me of him. I'm used to this sort of thing. It's happened many times, especially with people in my family.

The dream started with my uncle lying to me, telling me, and my whole family that my aunt was dead. Distraught and disturbed, I asked him how it happened, and I never got an answer. Instead, he would smugly laugh about it, like it was all a joke to him. He in fact seemed glad she was gone. In reality, they do have problems with their relationship, but it's definitely not that bad. I spent a good portion of the dream depressed and confused, asking questions. I wanted to know how he could really languish her death so easily, and if he truly was that cruel. Not only did I have to face my aunt's death, but my uncle laughing and enjoying it. Later I found out, much to my relief, that she was alive. I felt so angry. The rage was unthinkably strong. I can't remember what happened after I felt it.

The next dream was a bit more strange, and quite wacky to be honest, but still disturbing in its own right. Ross made another appearance, this time looking identical to my partner's brother, whom I get along well with, but am extremely uncomfortable around. In waking life, the real Thom is a confident individual with pronounced ideals and intelligence, a clear voice and clear head. More often than not, he makes me feel incredibly stupid. He's the life of the room when he's around, charismatic with an attractive personality (though I'm not attracted to him). He and my boyfriend are both funny characters, and always make me laugh. It's around Thom that I feel uncomfortable, stupid, and infinitely ugly. His presence makes me hate myself more than I already do, because it reminds me of how little I matter to the world, to anyone in my life, and how unjustifiably ignorant I am. In times when he and the rest of the people in the house want to play games, they're of a knowledgeable nature, ones of trivia and on-the-ball thinking. They grew up with such things, and they've a talent for it. I find myself blanking out, staring into space, wishing I was somewhere else. SomeONE else. Someone with a brain. Someone worth something. I get so distracted wishing I was funny and smart, that I wasn't treated so badly throughout my life, that I had confidence as I once did before I realized my dreams could be torn from me, that I don't care about enjoying myself. Strangely, this doesn't make me hate Thom. I love him like a brother. I just hate visiting him. It probably shows, too. I'm very bitter when over there.

It's all quite a bit to take in considering not much is known of me or James's family, whom I love with all my heart, like my own family. They certainly treat me with more respect than my own family does. All I know is that I've convinced myself that it's too late for me. It drives me to horrible thoughts or self-injury.

Thom's appearance in my dream could have meant many things, but I know it wasn't really meant to be "Thom." It was someone with Thom's face and voice. I was sitting alone in a diner, drinking cocktails. He joined me, very suddenly and without permission. I asked where his wife was, and he said she was doing her own thing. I asked why he wasn't with her. I don't think I got a definitive answer. He then proceeded to act like a jackass, stealing food from other tables, food that wasn't his that he didn't order. He began making huge messes and treating everyone poorly. He was the center of attention and people seemed to find him funny, especially when he mocked me. He randomly came riding through the dining room on a bull at one point, and a skunk burrowed it's way out from underneath my table.

That's all I remember. All I know is that throughout the dream I was angry, uncomfortable, and humiliated, as I often am.

Last night, I had such an incredibly chilling nightmare, and it's been nagging at me all afternoon. Like most of my nightmares go, this didn't start off on a horrifying foot, but it slowly descending into madness as it went on.

I had two dreams last night. One involved seeking shelter from bad storms, namely tornadoes. Tornadoes make frequent appearances in my dreams. I don't really have a fear of them. I'm fascinated by them. I suppose my fascination with them is due to how often I dream of them. If a tornado doesn't happen, a bad storm of some kind does, but all of them are destructive.

The second dream was much longer than the first and at times I wished desperately that I could wake from it.

It had somehow come to my attention that I had been possessed by an entity. Not a demon, exactly, more like a parasite (I don't believe in demons) with conscious thought, the ability to speak, and caused severe psychological stress and symptoms, because it was in my brain. This parasite... I don't even have a name for it (I guess you could say it was the antagonizing dream personality, Ross, I so often dream of, taking a non-human form). But it was definitely male. It had a male voice.

There were calm periods in the dream where I would visit friends, people I'm closest with, people I love. I would be relaxed and happy. Then, I would hear it-- the venomous, whispering voice threatening to kill them. I would beg to it, knowing full well how insane I might have looked, and it would attempt to bargain with me, saying that if I committed another unspeakable act, he might keep my friends alive.

I knew he was referring to murder. I told him I refused to do it. He told me then to kill myself instead. Rationally, this wasn't practical, since he was living in my head, but I wasn't exactly thinking about that in my dream. He said he would spare some lives if I destroyed myself. I didn't want to do that either. So he forced me to kill my friends in the most heinous methods possible. Burning them alive, hammering their heads in, blowing up their vehicles when they tried to escape. I had no idea what was real or imagined. I would hallucinate horrid things, people with their bodies inside out, then the images would go back to normal. I had no clue as to whether or not my companions actually met their demise, or if it was a hallucination.

As it turned out, just to fuck with me, half of them were real deaths, and half weren't. It was up to me to find out which was true and which wasn't, all while a parasite in my head tortured my mind. I would see destruction, and not know if I had caused it, and if I didn't see destruction, I wanted to cause it anyway. Eventually, my whole train of thought had changed, and I was no longer the same person. I felt as though I had lost all control of myself, that I was a puppet being strung along as I watched my own hands strangle others, then felt them turn onto my own neck. I could feel myself choking, dying.

I could hear the parasite laughing at me inside my ears. I actually hid inside of my own subconscious (a subconscious within a subconscious... how's that for confusing?) and ran through rooms of shoddy, dilapidated houses to look for the parasite, planning to talk to it, ask it why it was doing what it was doing.

I eventually stumbled across a large, empty room, like a giant art studio, a couch in the middle of the floor. A young man (whom I assume was :flame: Ross :flame was sitting on it, drinking, I don't remember what, but it was alcohol. He didn't communicate much with words, nor did he chase me out of the room as I expected. He was strongly built, muscular, like a statue (I doubt it was to entice me, since I'm not really attracted to that physique, but rather, intimidate me), and was nude.

He did smile when he saw me, a very sinister smile, then motioned for me to sit on the couch. I obeyed him, which was a mistake. I tried to speak to him, tell him that I've had enough, that I can't live like this, that eventually he would be the death of me. It didn't take long for him to start taking advantage of me sexually, until I was unwillingly having sex with him, hoping it would get him to stop tormenting me. It was like he had won the battle, that I had died.

Ross as a dream personality has bothered me so much that I'm planning to write him as a character, eventually, which I almost sort of have. I'm not sure if hurting myself or destroying myself would benefit anyone, but part of me must think so.

Another dream I had recently had a similar feeling of fear in it. In the dream, a solar eclipse had just happened, but it was unlike any other eclipse. For some reason, it changed people, and only certain people were affected. The most frightening thing about this was, if you had been affected, no one would know, unless they saw you in the dark.

Why was this so frightening? Well, when I say "affected," I mean an affliction causing one to turn into an entirely black silhouette of themselves in darkness. I had no idea what they were capable of when turning into this dark form, but I never stuck around to find out when I saw one. I was too terrified. During the day, these same people would linger around in their homes hoarding canned food for no reason. Eventually towns had become vacant of all life, and I would travel around on foot entering houses that may or may not have contained people affected by the eclipse. I'd have to say that utter fear of entering those houses alone, hearing people muttering nonsense within the houses, was what scared me the most. Trying to stay hidden from the monsters in the attic. I suppose one would say it's a bit childish, but I would never wish a nightmare like that on my worst enemy. Even if it sounds ridiculous, that feeling... just the feeling I would get sneaking around in those houses was enough to make me never want to sleep again.

I don't know why I feel the need to write this one down. In many ways, it was so charmingly witty and ridiculous.

In most dreams, I feel nothing but fear. I'm afraid of everything. It comes as close to real life as anything can. I have some severe anxiety, which was never aided by pharmaceuticals, or therapists for that matter. But in this dream, I was far more in control than usual. I had some pretty angry thoughts that day, so I don't know if this relates to that.

I don't know anything about boats or sailing or even really much about water, but it was up to me, for whatever reason, to gather a "crew" to build some kind of makeshift ship because a gigantic flood was on its way. The city was empty, vacant of all human life, so finding these men was a challenge. I searched high and low for them, and eventually compiled a group. They were all much younger than me, I'd say probably eighteen or nineteen. I only vividly remember two of them, though there were definitely more than that. One of which was very feminine and at first glance, could easily be mistaken for female, and the other was a gloomy, brooding young man wearing black. At first, he wanted nothing to do with me.

I immediately wanted to win him over. There was no explanation for it. Sure, I wanted them all to like me, to cooperate with me, even give me ideas, but that one in black changed me. He was essentially me, as a young man, but I badly yearned for us to get along. Often times he would turn his head to me, sneer, and turn away, and if he spoke, it wasn't directly to me.

I got it in my head that he really only got along with people if he was intimate with them, in a sexual sense. As if it were a contest I was holding, I came on to the young, feminine man first. I can't remember what gender I was in the dream, because it's almost always ambiguous in any dream I have. I could be female one minute, and male the next. It's highly possible that I switched genders off and on multiple times, because that often occurs.

The youthful, girly young man was apparently smitten with me. He returned the flirting, and eventually I was doing sexual things with him, which he really seemed to like and be enthusiastic about. Each man in the "crew" had different personalities, so not all of them were into it. Some of them even told me they weren't gay, so I must have been male in that part of the dream.

A large chunk of the dream involved us mapping out where we were supposed to start traveling, and providing rations for the trip. I helped out with most of it. There was some kind of scene involving a restroom (a very dirty one) with lots of stalls. I see this image a lot in my dreams. I don't know if it just means I have a really filthy mind, or what, but bathrooms, especially public ones, appear very often.

Anyways, I eventually got the angry kid in black to talk to me. When approaching the subject of sex, he denied wanting it at first, but then he allowed it, and it was relieving.

Somehow we managed to make three entire boats with just a small group, and ones of pretty impressive caliber. I didn't really care much about anything else when we actually started traveling, other than how close I was to them now. Their happiness mattered a lot to me, and I actually loved them, much like I do my own characters, like they were family.

So, it wasn't a bad dream, until a bad storm hit. Then it frightened me. Things never do go perfectly when I rest. It's always something. Perhaps it reflects my mental state, where even when I'm happy, all I can think about is death and destruction, worrying about losing people I love, being abandoned. I can never really fully be happy. A stressful emotion is always looming around.

Thoughts on dreaming about bathrooms: I have so many dreams involving me in a filthy public restroom, that I was compelled to look it up. It revealed a lot of things, all of them incredibly true. The same day I had this dream, I vowed to delete my Facebook page, simply because everyone on it angers me. I was growing frustrated that I went out of my way to please everyone by commenting and liking all of their stuff, and when I posted artwork or something I made, no one gave two fucks about it. It was hurtful that I spent so much time caring about everyone only to see that people would go months without saying a word to me. I wanted so much to tell them things like this, but I was ashamed of how I thought, because I still considered them friends, and was ashamed because I shouldn't be so judgmental of them. I know I have to try to understand people and their motives, their reasons, and if I tried to tell them I was angry at them, I don't think I have that right, or they'd just call me a drama queen. So I figured I'd save myself some anguish and just delete my profile and not involve myself in anyone's lives, and if they cared about me, they'd call me someday. I know they don't care, so they won't, no matter how much I loved and respected them.

Anyways, apparently dreaming about a public restroom, which I do way too often to go unnoticed, means a concern about how others think of you, a concern about being judged. I don't want the situation to get worse, so I don't even bring it up. I just hold it, and never relieve myself.

But then I think about how good it would feel to lash out at anyone, anyone who dared to speak to me. How good it would feel to relieve my anger. I never get the pleasure. Either people don't care to listen to my own problems because they're too busy bitching at me about theirs, or they're "cockblocking" me in a sense, saying I "shouldn't say such naughty things." It makes it worse, makes it even more frustrating.

Ugh, I didn't intend for this to be so ranting. It just made a lot of sense to read it. But now I understand why people murder others. I'm really tired of being too nice. I feel like Michael Douglas in Falling Down. One day I'm going to snap, and it's not going to end well.

While riding in a car with friends somewhere in the middle of nowhere on a long stretch of empty road, I saw an airplane in the sky, completely engulfed in flames. Even though I wasn't in the plane, I was terrified for the people within it and hoped they got out alive. Though the plane was somewhat high up, I could hear horrified screams from many miles below. For some reason, the pilot wouldn't land the thing. He just kept flying it around in maddened circles for ages.

Finally the airplane exploded into several large shards of debris which rained down in the distance. After a minute or so had gone by, I saw some people were parachuting down to the ground. I felt relief when I saw that at least some of them escaped.

I met the survivors of the tragedy and they told me about the pilot. I can't remember his name, but he was young, athletic, and at first meeting, he didn't look or act anything like an airplane pilot. In fact, he didn't seem at all disturbed by the occurrence and shrugged it off like it always happens. He actually looked exactly like Ross, the way he more commonly looks in my dreams. Tall, strong, thin, athletic, blond, douchey smile.

I went with him and some of the survivors to a piece of the exploded plane, and I asked a girl who survived where she got her parachute and how many there were. She said she got them out of... a vending machine...

I was confused and asked Mr. Douchebag Pilot (Ross) why parachutes were in a vending machine. He said they weren't; they were actually individually locked in combination safes. He actually showed me these ridiculous contraptions, and was doing so with a grin on his face. I could tell from the way he talked about the parachute safes, he was proud of them, like he made them. I checked them out and several of them were still locked.

The catch to the parachute-vending-safes were that you had to put a freaking quarter into the safe in order to unlock the ability to unlock the safe, so only a few survivors made it out because they forced themselves to remain steady enough to solve these dumb puzzles.

It was like some Saw movie or something, since the people who survived the explosion only had so much time to crack the safes or find the combinations. I could tell from the look on Ross's face and the way he was acting and talking to me, he had planned this whole thing.

I imagined the absolute horror the riders must have been feeling, and I wanted to do something about it. I told Ross I would be back later to discuss some other things with him/that we needed to have a serious talk about what he did. When I did come back later to talk to him, he was standing on the shard of exploded plane completely naked, and wasn't shy about it. It made me forget exactly why I was there, because I was now asking him why the hell he took his clothes off. I don't think I ever got a response.

Needless to say, this dream was very vivid in many ways, and so realistic, and it wasn't the first time I've dreamed about airplanes crashing. I've always had a fear of planes, and get extremely uncomfortable riding them. I felt almost like that fear was used against me subconsciously to remind me how little control I have over my life. However, it was one of the few dreams I've had where Ross actually SPOKE to me instead of trying to rape me somehow. Of course, he still tried to get to some kind of sexual step by getting naked in front of me when I was trying to talk to him about something serious. He seemed a bit put off when I wasn't interested in how horny he was, and tried to get some kind of answer from him about what he had done. It was like talking to a child about why they spread paint all over the curtains.

Ross wasn't too clear on why he did it, but he didn't really have to tell me. He's destructive, and what's worse, it sounds like he enjoys having sick control over people.

As an author, a lot of my ideas for books come from dreams, more than I'd like to admit. I plan to write a novel loosely based on last night's dream, and I'm actually really excited to write it.

The dream itself featured me, as male, following a young man around. You could definitely say I was stalking him, and he was always one step ahead of me. He wasn't anyone I knew in real life, nor do I think he had a name. I did, however, feel an infatuation with him, and was trying to do everything in my power to get near him.

It's hazy what exactly happened that led up to this point, but I somehow go to enter his house, and what awaited me was some sort of awful ambush. I remember being badly hurt physically.

Throughout the remainder of the dream, characters within it were trying to dispose of me or get me captured. I suppose if I'm stalking someone, I wouldn't expect any other reaction, but it was hard to express how painful it was not to fulfill the desire that set me out in the first place. I was being hardheaded though, and wouldn't give up.

The details are unclear. Either way, I was determined to get an idea down on paper and an outline written for a similar novel concept, and I'm absolutely excited about it, because it turned out to be something even more symbolic then what my dream may have been.

What's more, since starting therapy and writing every day, the really awful nightmares have (at least temporarily) been discontinued.

I've been a bit of a nervous wreck all night and today. I was planning to go out this afternoon to do some swimming to help me relax, and finally, for the first time in weeks, it thunderstorms today.

I feel like I'm slipping into some kind of subconscious hell. I've found some psychology clinics that I plan to call later and ask about. I have no insurance or money, but I know James wants to help. He's offered to pay anything to get me some help, because he's angry, sad, tired, stressed over all of this. I'm not happy like I used to be. I hate everything about myself.

Ross (my extremely negative, hateful, pessimistic side) hasn't reappeared in my dreams this week, which is a blessing in disguise, because he drives me nuts. He's usually chasing me, raping me, threatening me, or all of the above. My dreams, however, didn't get better. They're still stressful, they just don't star Ross. Or... maybe they do, and he just takes the form of someone I'm close to or familiar with. Either way, he's my incessantly spiteful side that I'm always trying to fight away. If I hate on myself, he's the part of me that's doing it.

I actually wanted Ross to show up. I wanted to talk to him in my dream, tell him to chill the fuck out, tell him that I can't live like this anymore and we have to work together. I can't keep working as hard as I can to repress him/that part of me all day, refraining from being hateful or violent. I feel like I'm losing the battle. I'm scared that he'll win, that I'll get to the point where I can't fight the desire to kill myself anymore.

He hates me so much/I hate myself so much. If I had a dissociative condition (I don't), and he was able to "come out" without me there, he'd probably spend the whole time hurting me and abusing me, cutting me up or slamming my head into things. The most he/that part of me has shown itself is when I was intoxicated. People tell me the way I am when I'm inebriated, and it's horrifying, because I don't remember being so violent and angry. I don't remember how I got the huge welt on my head or why my knuckles are throbbing, or why I have bite marks on me.

I don't want to be this way. I don't want to hate myself, but it's like second nature. Ross has always been there, lurking in shadows, waiting for a time to strike. He used to do it a lot when I was little. I've hurt my sister, I've threatened her life. I've kicked and punched holes in walls and bit myself and broke things, sentimental things. After seeing the damage, I cry so hard, because I didn't intend to do it; I didn't mean to cause it. I didn't want it to happen. But something in me screamed out, smashed things, hurt people. I think I may have killed animals.

This really is the last place I should be discussing all of this. I never talk about such things, to anyone. I keep it under lock and key. I idolize Kevin, my own character, for being so benevolent, for really, genuinely caring about people. I've wanted so much to be like him, but Ross doesn't let me; he hates me too much/I hate myself too much.

So today I started writing, writing to Ross/myself, trying to get my feelings down in writing. When I read it back, I realized how childish Ross is. If anything, he's more a boy than a man.



You don't get it. I'm stronger than you. You're weak and stupid. Only the weak and stupid need therapy. Why do you bury me so deeply? Does it give you some sick satisfaction? No one likes you.

If they don't like me, it's because you're there, Ross. You're my paranoia, I can't trust people.

You know damn well why you can't trust people, and that's because you simply can't. No one is as true as they say. No one is as genuine as you try to make them out to be. You have to accept me, the part of me that hates those people.

I don't want to hate people, Ross.

YOU CANNOT HELP THAT! As long as I'm here, you WILL hate people, and I'm always going to be here.

You don't have to be so hateful. You can accept that everyone has flaws and not hate them.

And you need to accept that it's okay to hate people's flaws. Some flaws are just naturally pitiful and ridiculous. Yours for example, make me nauseous.

It's not okay to hate people for their flaws. It's not okay to "hate" at all. Ross, I don't care how much of a dick you want me to be, I'm not going to be one.

Now, now. I never said that word. What, you think you can be Kevin? Christ, even he is sometimes overboard with the goodie-two-shoes bullshit. IT'S UNREALISTIC!!!

And you would think such a thing, that true kindness is unrealistic, and ridiculous. Kevin came from my heart, and my soul. He's kind because I am kind. He loves because I can love. Kevin is everything I would be if you weren't casting a shadow on me all the time.

But even Kevin is flawed. You know it. You, well, we invented him. If you made him the little sissy he is, I gave him the things I hate the most about you. Andrew, too. Where do you think he gets all of his insecurities? Certainly not from thin air.

That's what makes me love Andrew. He's a lot more human than you are, Ross. At least he can love someone for who he is.

I can love. I just love differently than you. Sure, I show love with my cock. That's still love on some level, haha.

Where did I get to be like this? So spiteful and afraid? You're so cocky. When people don't like me, it's you they don't like, not me.

Ah, so the truth comes out on why you bury me. Even you know your flaws are sickening. I'm your flaw, and you want so badly for people to like you, you put me away, inside of you somewhere, you pretend to like people that you, well, I, despise.

It's called being civil, Ross, being part of a society. You, we, have to learn how to be polite, don't we? We can't just act like aspergers idiots and come right out and say, even online, "I can't stand you, or anything you say." And if you're stronger than me, how is it that I can control you then? I can control those urges you have to come out and say things like that to innocent people. You may want to say things like that, but I don't let you, because I'm in control.

You're ugly, you're fat, your boyfriend would rather look at hot naked chicks instead of you, he probably fantasizes about them when he's fucking you, he's probably constantly thinking of ways to leave you, you fat, stupid, ugly cow bitch, you're hideous, you're stupid, you're bad at everything you do, you can't write, you can't draw, you can't do anything, because you're pathetic and weak and an idiot, and even your boyfriend knows it.

Listen to you. Listen to what you're saying, Ross. Why must you say those things? Why are they there? Why do you, I, make me cry like this? Why are you doing it? Why am I doing it?

BECAUSE IT'S TRUE, LOOK AT YOU. YOU HAVE A MIRROR, GO LOOK IN IT, YOU FAT BITCH, YOU FAT, FAT UGLY STUPID BITCH, I CAN'T STAND YOU!!!!!!!

Ross, until you learn to calm your ass down, until you sit down and shut the fuck up, I'm not going to talk or listen to you.

You will. I'm always back here, nagging, reminding you. You can hear me in the day, you can hear me at night. You can hear me, and you can't hide. You can't run. I'm here, I'm always here. And one day, when the time is right, I swear to god I'm going to kill you once and for all.

If I die, Ross, so will you.

I don't care. You're the one afraid of dying, not me. I hate you, and I hate everyone else. I hate James, too. He's a fucking asshole. And you're a moron for loving him.

I'm done with you. Don't talk to me until you grow up.

A severe thunderstorm is approaching. The sky literally turned black. I suddenly feel very vulnerable.

These dreams are still happening, and they've been going on for months. They all play out differently and they aren't exactly identical to one another, but all-in-all, they're the exact same dreams on repeat, over and over.

Two nights ago I dreamed that I was once again in a dilapidated, crippled home, with a broken family, who all feared a dominant and frightening "head of the household," who was male. I never got to see him. He was a mere shadow that I could sense was near. I constantly fled from him. I was terrified of going into the basement, but I went anyway, just to get away from him. The basement was a rustic, filthy place full of dripping pipes and strange noises. I could hear things creeping in the shadows. I wanted out, but I was afraid of that man coming after me.

Down in the basement I found a book, one that explicitly told of the many ways to torture and dismember people. It was filled with gruesome photos in black and white, and the only thing in color was the blood in the pictures. I confronted the other members of the family and demanded to know who the owner of the book was, thinking it might help me save them. They only looked at me with complete and utter fear and wouldn't really tell me.

Last night in my dreams, I met a man, a younger one, who actually had a name that I forget. He was thin, but really strong. He somehow talked me into having sex with him. I was protesting in my mind, but I followed through with it. I wanted to stop, I didn't want to have sex with him, but it was like part of me was agreeing to it that I couldn't control. It was like I was being semi-raped. After having sex with me, he got complete control over me, and I hated everything about it. I didn't want it to happen. He got me to agree with everything he said.

Eventually he vowed to killed everyone I loved, and cause as much destruction as he could, and I tried to argue but I was terrified of him. He could get me to do anything, even things I didn't want. I didn't want to be submissive at all-- I wanted to be free of it. I didn't like any part of it.

I remembered my boyfriend in the dream and I tried to think of ways to hide it from him, to lie to him, to make up some stories. I didn't want to hurt him by telling him all of the bad things that were happening to me, and I didn't want him to abandon me.

Dreams that are just like these two keep happening. The series of events are sometimes changed, and the man who pseudo-rapes me is usually different too. But it's all the same thing. The house in my dreams always looks different, but there's always something cruel, vicious, and frightening lurking inside of it.

I always wake up from these feeling vulnerable and alone. Like I have no control over my own emotions, and they're going absolutely crazy in my subconscious, trying to cause as much pain and anguish in my dreams as possible. It's been a long, long, long time since I've had a happy dream. I can't even remember the last time I've had a peaceful dream.

My dream last night was horrifying at the time. I played as Kevin for a little while, and usually, I really love dreams where I'm playing as him, but last night wasn't very fun at all. He didn't "come out" until after some crazy things started happening to me. I was in a very dark, weak, and poorly built house. The hallways were small and the lights that did work barely did. The structure was made of decaying dark wood that looked badly water-damaged. A family had taken residence there, even though I was certain that the house belonged to me, and I knew that had invaded my home and lived there without my consent, and I felt very upset because of it, especially because they were trying to kick me out. On the wall was the only sign that I had ever lived there-- decorative posters with some of my favorite video games. I have such things on my walls in my own apartment.

I got to know the family, but not very well. I remember specifically a thin elderly woman living there, and a young mentally handicapped boy. I could feel dreadful things when in the house, like I knew something terrible was happening or about to. James was there, but barely.

I began to feel panicky, which I often do in dreams. The posters on my wall would change into something else every time I looked at them, and each time, they were sketches of mine, and I knew they were mine because they were my style of artwork. I was very scared of this, for the drawings continued to warp and change, and even though it was obvious I drew them, they looked more and more menacing, and I didn't remember drawing them that way. I began to scream that I was going crazy and I was hallucinating. James tried to convince me otherwise, saying the drawings had always been there, which didn't keep me from panicking.

My personality began routinely swapping like I had them on an assembly line. I could tell I was Kevin for some of it, the loving and gentle man who tries his best not to hurt people, especially the ones he loves, but he became angry at something. I can't remember what, but it had a lot to do with the family living in my house. He vowed to "do something about it," and it felt like I was off to the side listening to him, even though I was playing him. Usually, mine and Kevin's thoughts coincide with each other's, and it's more like I'm playing my own thoughts but as a male, or I'm following him somewhere important that he's trying to take me, usually to keep me safe, but he was suddenly different last night.

Kevin then wasn't Kevin anymore, which I suppose is a good thing, considering that I may have felt even more uncomfortable looking at myself in the mirror to see Kevin's kind and tranquil eyes so full of rage. He became someone, or someTHING else, or rather I did-- A very cruel and hateful younger man, and normally I would think this was Andrew, but he didn't look like him, and he didn't act like him. I felt too much hate and anger when being him, and I knew that he was different; separate from my much-loved creations. He was enraged and willing to kill, which is something neither Kevin or Andrew is capable of.

Able to now predict the actions of the squatters in my house through interpreting the drawings on the wall, I (as the young man) began to realize that they planned to hurt me somehow, or even kill me. Perhaps this was just me/him justifying his proceeding actions. The house, already dark on the inside, became even darker, and the walls looked dilapidated and broken, but this didn't stop me from turning against those who took it from me. As I walked around a field, I think after coming home from some event, possibly school, I thought about ways I would slaughter them, mostly thinking of the most painful ways possible. I saw a large hay cutter on my way to the house that nearly missed running over a small animal, like a rabbit. I remember wishing that it had hit it, just so I could see it and feel satisfied.

Once back to the house, I can't remember how I did it exactly, but I turned the family members into hateful pieces of shit, too. I believe it involved photographs or something, or I had taken something precious from them. I can't remember what, since this part of the dream is the fuzziest, since the alarm ripped me out of sleep before it could end. I made them suffer somehow, like making them feel worthless and terrible by some means, and I think I may have woken up before I actually killed them. I remember other little scenes involving train tracks and the grocery store, but those two things are extremely common in my dreams. I've seen many trains and stores in my dreams, enough where I'm unable to count them.

I was relieved to be woken up, but at the same time, I felt disturbingly dissatisfied with not getting to see the ending. As terrified as I was by everything, I wanted to go back to sleep to dream it again. Even though I did fall asleep once more, I wasn't able to dream again.

Since this isn't the first time I've dreamed about being in a house of this nature, I've always been interested in what it means. Usually, when I'm in a house, it is built this way-- it's falling apart and barely standing on the outside, like it had been abandoned many years ago. Inside the house, it's always dark, eerie, unpleasant, and extremely cold. Every once in a while there is the sound of dripping water, or water running down the walls. The structure is almost always made of wood, or has wood flooring. Something horrible always happens in it, or I see something that terrifies me, usually rape or murder and sometimes both. I do not always feel angry when inside, in fact, usually I'm too scared to go too deep into the house, because I can feel something awful hiding somewhere in it, like a locked room is keeping a monster from escaping. Many times I have fled from these houses, sometimes before going inside and sometimes after. If it is before, it's because I heard something from inside that frightened me, most of the time screaming sounds. If it is after, it's because I witnessed a terrible event or saw images of things I really didn't like.

The house in my dreams has cropped up so many times, and although it is always in the same shape, broken down and uncared for, it is never the same type of house. Sometimes it's a small shack or cabin, and then other times it'll be a two-story Victorian, but it's never the same type. The state of the house, however, remains exactly the same.

So I looked up what a house represents in a dream.
They usually symbolise our emotional and psychological selves. All of your experiences, stages of development, and parts of your conscious and unconscious life may be represented by that house. The house may be representing issues concerning a particular dilemma in your life, or it may be more general and comprehensive.
To dream that your house is broken into suggests that you are feeling violated. It may refer to a particular relationship or current situation in your life. Alternatively, it indicates that some unconscious material is attempting to make itself known. There are some aspects of yourself that you have denied.

The frightening thing to me is, if it is emulating a dilemma, I don't know what that dilemma is. Since it often feels like I'm in danger of being harmed when in these houses, or threatened by something, or scared and vulnerable, it only raises my curiosity even further. Things like this concern me, and I know that dreams like this will never end. The houses frighten me, and I feel like I have only gathered the courage once or twice to go deep into them. I never, ever go to the attic or basement when in these houses, I'm too scared, or in this case, too angry and focused on causing pain to people I feel have wronged me, even though they seemed even more vulnerable and innocent than me. An old woman and a handicapped boy are two things I consider innocent, and yet, I could feel hatred for them.

I had two dreams last night, and this was the second one. The dream prior to this was of Kevin having sex with a young Clint Eastwood (I had watched the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly just before going to sleep, but I was not expecting that to happen). I never considered that an option, really, but after seeing it, I was entertained and found it amusing. At least there was a lighter side to the evening, which I needed.

Needless to say, I have been depressed lately, and usually when I am, dreams like this tend to repeat themselves. I've felt very low self-worth and even worse self-esteem, and even though I've had this problem all of my life, it's been cropping up as an even worse condition these days. I wish I had the money to seek therapy.

Another thing I've noticed a trend of is violence. Most of my dreams are either sexual or violent, and usually both at the same time. Either I feel vulnerable and scared, or angry and bloodthirsty. I rarely have any good dreams anymore, and when I do, they're campy and easy to laugh at, and I'm relieved when I have them.

I have a lot of dreams where I'm playing as character's I've created in real life. I've had a heavy focus on two of mine lately, since they are the main characters of a novel I'm writing. Not only are they characters, but large parts of me.

The characters are father and son, named Kevin (father) and Andrew (son). They have an extremely close relationship. They don't star in my dreams every night, but they do frequently. Usually I'm playing as either one of them, and usually it's Kevin. But last night, I was Andrew.

Being that I usually come up with ideas for stories from my dreams, they seemed to have, over time, developed strange linear plot lines, perhaps in reflection to my story-writing in waking life. While it's hard to piece all of the details together, there are scenes that horrified and depressed me enough for me to remember them.

The basic "Story" was that a lot of young adults, mostly people in their late teens and early twenties, were getting abducted by a crazed murderess. But she wasn't like any other murderess, in fact, she wasn't at all like most women, even woman killers. She, with the help of others, kidnapped several people and kept them locked up in a large cell, inside of what appeared to be a sewer or something. I play a lot of video games, so it more resembled a type of dungeon. Andrew, who is eighteen, gets taken, as well as Kevin, but neither of them know the location of the other.

Eventually, I/Andrew learn that there is a purpose behind the kidnappings, but it isn't fully revealed until I figure it out on my own. Each of the young adults' parents are taken from them, and each killed in a horrible way, and they are forced to watch it. As I/Andrew saw each of the kids get taken from the cell and never come back, I began to feel terrified.

Finally, Andrew was taken out. He and Kevin both were put into an odd place... it's hard to explain. It was a room that looked as if it were made entirely of white wood. Everything was colorless and appeared fake, and this for some reason, chilled me. I/Andrew, was told to use this time with Kevin to say goodbye to him. I didn't understand what it meant, and I was tearful and sad. I tried, still as Andrew, to convince Kevin to think of an escape. I beckoned and pleaded with him to help me break us out.

But things only got worse. Kevin was unbelievably uncooperative with me, which was stressful enough, but he was actually trying to convince me that it was okay. He was even smiling as he reassured me, in fact, he seemed almost happy about it.

This upset me/Andrew further, and I was convinced he was drugged or hypnotized or something, because I knew that he would never act that way. I tried to force him into escaping, but he wouldn't allow it, and he got taken by the female adversary.

She and a few of what seemed like "guards" helped her take Kevin up to a tall tower. I was forced to follow. At the top, a massive ledge overlooked a deep, cavernous pit, and down below was a sea of boiling lava. As I screamed and cried, Kevin was pushed in. He was nearly willing to do it, and as he descended, he finally said goodbye to me, and I was forced to watch him sink and melt into the burning pit.

I was then released back into the world, which I guess was part of the "plan." I assume they figured that nothing could be more insensitive than making me watch that happen, then force me to try to live my life and cope with it. I/Andrew prepared a funeral service for Kevin, which only yielded more depression and denial of what occurred.

Once I was finished mourning, I knew I had to do something to save the others. Knowing I was risking my own life, I returned to where the others were kept in the cell. I think I may have been woken up by my cat sticking his nose in my face before I got to see the ending, like a movie ending on a cliffhanger.

I don't know why I was playing as Andrew in this particular dream, but when I think about him, Andrew is a huge part of me, in fact, he's based on the way I was as a teenager. What baffles me more is losing Kevin in the dream, who is also an enormous part of my personality.

Kevin represents the side of me that is caring, nurturing, and benevolent. He is, in character form, my kindness and ability to love, and thus he is like a manifestation of such. Kevin has always been courageous with a lot of foresight, and he is what I think a fictional hero is. He believes in justice, and is vigilant and protective.

Andrew is someone who is humble, dependent, and afraid, and he isn't sure of his true purpose in the world. He's anti-social and always considers the most evil of intentions in people, and usually expects them, which is sort of like my alternate view on society, compared with Kevin's.

My personality is pretty much a combination of these two kinds of people. I've always had stories of these two clashing personalities coming together somehow and finding a balance between them. The love of human nature, the love of people, and being able to see the good in everyone, and the despicable doubt and hatred, seeing the blackness in everyone's souls, expecting to see lurking evil and cruel intentions behind every friendly face. The matter has always been an important one to me, because I am always alternating these two opposing opinions.

Seeing one of these major traits die was impacting upon me, especially seeing the part of me that believed in the goodness of people melt away in burning fire. It frightened me and made me feel alone, even more so than usual, alone with my feeling of blackness and doubt and hatred, believing that there is no hope, that everyone is cruel, and the people you trust the most will turn on you. It made me feel like the "dark" side of me was trying to be stronger than the light. Sometimes I'll say things like, "believing everyone has a good side is incredibly weak and stupid." Even now, I agree with that.

But then I think about how I/Andrew were trying to risk our life to save the others from the same fate. It makes me feel that maybe I am not as dark as I think I am. I could feel sadness gripping me as I lost "the hero," but then I felt when losing him, that I had to be one in his wake. I had to take on my own responsibilities.

It's thorough, and complicated, but it helps me understand the kind of person I am. For a long time, I've had dreams about good vs. evil, black vs. white, etc. I sometimes wonder if it's better to have one, or both types of personalities. I guess it's better to have both.

Dream time: Christmas Eve, night. It's winter and snowing, but it isn't cold. I'm not even dressed in winter clothes. I treat it a lot like late spring weather.

My boyfriend, James, and I go to a holiday-themed park, which is full of Christmas shops and games and indoor rides. We visit each of the attractions, and I enjoy myself exploring. I have a thirst for knowledge and a youthful curiosity, and that's evident in this dream. James takes me to various shops and I look at all of the weird items for sale that I, personally, didn't think had anything to do with Christmas, but I knew that's what they were for, regardless. The evening felt fun, and I felt warm.

We went into some theater to see a film or something. I couldn't remember exactly what film or even how long we were inside. Eventually it came time to leave when we were done looking around. While the memory is still fresh in my mind, I wanted to note how beautiful and happy this place was. There were holiday lights all around and people walking and laughing, people of all ages, and it made me feel good to see people enjoying themselves the way they were.

When James and I began to leave, we got in his car, or what we thought was his car. We apparently got into someone else's car that was identical to his. In reality this would make no sense, but, it's a dream, so-- Anyway, we began to go home, James seemed tired, probably because he's usually tired in waking life from working all the time. As we drove, I noticed someone sitting in the backseat. Startled, I looked in the back, and saw a young boy sitting back there. In both awe and shock, I shouted to James, "There's a kid in the backseat!" James looked as well. I followed up with, "I think we took someone else's car!"

James, for some reason, seemed determined to keep the car (As well as the kid?!?!) and not return both to the proper owner/parent. This isn't how James behaves in waking life, he's nothing like that. I think what was happening is that he was concerned about going back, something was scaring him. I told him that we have to go back anyway, the car (as well as the kid) didn't belong to us.

He finally agreed, and drove me back to the Christmas town. We parked the car and began to seek the owner and parent. The young boy, by the way, was incredibly calm. He wasn't frantic or panicked, in fact, he seemed as if he wanted us to take him. We didn't have to look for long, because the owner of the vehicle approached us personally.

"There it is!" He announced, I assume referring to the black Vibe.

"We're terribly sorry," I humbly apologized, and he looked surprised at me. "You have the same car as we do."

The man, who appeared to be alone and elderly, didn't seem to care about who was apparently his son, and the fact that we accidentally nabbed him. He did mention that he was his son, though. I don't recall what happened to the boy. I don't even remember him getting out of the car. He seemed afraid. The elderly man then seemed incredibly focused on communicating with me, and seemed to forget all about the car swapping.

An eerie, creepy smile formed on his face, and I can't explain how nervous he made me feel. He hadn't said anything yet, but I knew his intentions weren't innocent.

"I see that you enjoyed yourself here," he told me. "There is a much better place, another place, and it's much more fun. Just come with me. I'll take you there."

He didn't seem at all like he wanted to take me to a happy or fun place. He looked sinister and dishonest. I didn't believe him, and I knew that he wanted to hurt me somehow.

"No thank you," I said, then began to turn to leave.

"You'll regret that decision," he said. "Come with me." His voice turned very demanding, with a growl in it.

I faced him. "No."

He glared, and continued to press the matter, and I declined each time.

"Leave me alone," I finally commanded. "I'm not going anywhere with you." I stamped my foot into the ground.

He looked taken aback, completely shocked. We stared each other down, and it seemed as if the air around us had stilled, and time itself had stopped. The visitors of the small town all seemed to stop what they were doing. I didn't give in, nor did I flee, even as I felt that he was going to begin pursuing me. Suddenly, he withdrew an enormous shotgun and aimed it at me in furious rage.

I stared down the barrel of the gun, but I wasn't at all surprised. I felt like I expected this to happen, and I knew that he wanted me to run or give in to him. "Do as I say!" He shouted.

"No," I repeated, and glowered at him. We stood there staring at each other, and spectators continued to watch. Their shopping seemed to be far less interesting now.

The man with the gun seemed shocked that I continued to deny him. He looked appalled, and I could tell that he wasn't sure what to do. He looked nervous. He repeatedly demanded me to do as he said, and I screamed at him to drop the gun, and leave me alone. I was not going to back down, and I was not about to run from him.

Finally, a shot rang out. I heard screams. It wasn't me who was shot, it was the elderly man with the shotgun. I was the one who was confused next. A huge bullet hole had filled most of his head and he fell, dead, to the ground, bleeding. He dropped his gun and fell into the mounds of snow.

I quickly looked behind me to see where the shot came from. There, in the distance, was a male police officer holding a huge pistol, or more like a hand cannon, it was enormous. The large handgun was smoking, and he was aiming in the direction of my attacker. He then motioned for other officers to get out of their cars to go help people. As I looked at his face, he saluted me with a smile. I smiled crookedly back and nodded to him to thank him.

That was the end of the dream. I woke up then. I think I was still smiling.

I forgot most of this dream, but there was a large, significant part of it that I do remember. A friend and I were staying in someone's house for a while, I don't remember why. But we went walking in the woods, in an eerie swamp area. By the swampy water was a really rickety old wooden house or shed. I was terrified of it. Completely stricken with paralyzing fear. I didn't know why. I felt like I was being told that something horrible happened in it, or that was happening as I looked upon it.

What continued to occur is difficult to explain. I believed the small building was haunted by something/someone and I went to investigate and entered the small dilapidated building. Even now as I think of going into it, I feel chills. Something about being inside made me uncomfortable.

It was then that I started to "see" things, only it was like I was the one experiencing them. I had taken the form of a young girl and I was being abused, sexually, by a faceless male figure and then the young girl/myself was murdered. I spent a good chunk of the dream gazing upon the structure with both sickened interest and fear. I felt throughout the entire dream that I was haunted by what happened/what I saw earlier. I felt I was being followed.

I went back a couple times, but never went in. I only stared at it, wondering what I should do. I was too terrified to go in a second time.

The rest of the dream featured many things, mostly feelings of betrayal and pain, images of the people who have hurt me in some way. There were also a lot of dirty swimming pools, which people frequently told me to get into and swim for a while, but I insisted that I couldn't.

I have a lot of these negative, painful feelings in my dreams, but this was the worst in a short while (only a short while). Something is plaguing me and I can't get rid of it, and I've never been able to. I don't even know what it is. All I know is, when I'm awake, I'm just as withdrawn and anxious most of the time as I am when I'm asleep.

Lately, every night my dreams have involved a battle or war of some kind. I don't remember any other details in them, except it's me versus various enemies, and they all look and act as if they belong in video games (that's not odd, I play tons of video games).

Almost every time, however, when fighting against this multitude of forces, I'm a young man who is very skilled at using weapons (somehow?). Last night it was him/I against a bunch of freaky flying masks, another one recently I was against some kind of rabid animals, and another where I was fighting skeletons. he/I rise victorious in every battle, and he/I are never wounded or defeated.

I'm only vaguely certain what these could mean. I'm thinking that there's something about myself I'm fighting with. I don't know exactly what it could be, but the fact that I always win the fights doesn't feel like it's a bad sign. It might relate to the upcoming positive changes that are coming along in my life and I've been thinking and worrying a lot about how not to ruin it.

But it could relate to other things that are going on with me as well. When I dream that I'm male, I don't notice much of a change in the dreamworld. Being male in the dreams just feels like I'm still myself and everything is normal. It's not until I wake up that I realize I was dreaming myself in a male body. However, If I'm ever my female self, somehow I'm always in trouble and afraid or in danger. If a nightmare occurs, and they do often, my dreams will suddenly grow very grim and dark, I'm always female in them, and alone, and no one wants to help me.

I've had dreams a lot in the past where men try to talk with the female version of me and I get upset with them, usually because they eventually try to communicate in a sexual manner. When I would push them away, they would chase me down and act enraged or violent and yell at me a lot, or display some psychotic, neurotic, and obsessive behaviors. Sometimes in dreams I switch genders from female to male and sometimes back again.

If I'm ever male in my dreams, I spend a lot of time studying my own body and looking at myself, and I'm always very pleased with it and happy with it, but I'm always hiding from people in the dream, specifically people who represent those who know me in waking life, such as my boyfriend and his family and my own family. I'll be spending the entire dream trying to find ways to avoid telling them who I am now, or trying to make sure they don't ever see me, knowing that in the dream, I was once female and I like being male now and their reaction would be negative. So sometimes my dreams are very literal like this, because I feel the same way about this sometimes in waking life, but try as hard as I can not to think about it, because it causes me stress. When I'm my female self, I almost never look at myself, so it's actually pretty hard to tell if I'm even female at those times, but somehow I just "know" that I'm "the me that looks like the one in waking life."

I was told that the men in my dreams are representations of my male personality traits and he's possibly trying to talk with me about something important and dire, but I never want to talk about it with him.

I've believed this has to do with my gender identity issue, wanting to be male instead of female, only feeling a bit cornered about it, not knowing what to do to solve it.

Lately, this male dream character has still been showing up, more often than he used to. He still has a different form each time, only now, he seems to have chilled out a little, because I seem to be accepting his desire to communicate. The past couple of times he's been showing up with familiar physical attributes. Just last night he appeared looking identical to a male character of mine that I'm attached to.

In my dream last night, the young man didn't speak much. He seemed to want to communicate first with body language, then sexually only. I was sitting in a restaurant of some kind, I think, and he was there, and motioned for me to follow him to the bathroom, which was very confined and private. I didn't object to him at all and followed him in. He seemed happy and was smiling, continuing to motion me inside, never really saying anything, just using body language, which was definitely a first, because the other men in my dreams before constantly talked my ear off and were very pushy.

I seemed to already know what he wanted, but I didn't mind this time, for some reason. After following him in, he still said nothing, but he indicated that he wanted oral sex performed on him. I obliged and didn't complain.

It was a strange sense of completion or achievement, even though we weren't speaking, I felt like we were communicating about something.

But halfway through the act I rejected him again and told him I couldn't continue. He did not get violent with me, nor did he pursue me, or yell at me. He appeared hurt, dejected, and he looked very disappointed in me. He allowed me to leave without a fight. I actually felt like I had let someone down. Probably myself, because I then felt a sense of pain.

I came out of the bathroom and my boyfriend was sitting at the table I was sitting at before. I thought about how much I loved him and how I felt like I was keeping something from him, and it hurt, badly. I felt like a bad person. I didn't tell him about my male friend, but I felt like he already knew about him. I felt complicated emotions.

I couldn't sleep for most of the night, but the dream carried on, where I was helping another of my male characters fight in a war of sorts against people who were trying to destroy our specific freedom. In this part of the dream, I knew who the male persona was because he is, in waking life, the character that is my alter ego. I was very close to him, even in the dream, and he was to me. He was a very powerful individual, very strong, and he guided me through a lot of the difficult trials occurring in the dream. He was often ordering me to do certain things, and I never hesitated to listen. He stayed beside me most of the time as we attempted to cross and avoid obstacles. Often times I hugged him, tightly.

Toward the end of the dream, we were standing on top of a very, very high cliff overlooking an ENORMOUS body of bright blue water, that seemed calm for the most part. I felt very scared looking down at the water, but I also knew that I had to climb down into it, and my male alter-ego, whose name is Kevin, also demanded that I do so, and that I had to do it, I had no choice. I began climbing down the side of the rocky cliff carefully, Kevin was driven to go down as well. I spent a great deal of the dream swimming around in the water, but looking in the distance at the masses of "soldiers" that were supposedly our enemies, and who were trying to fire shots at us. The water then seemed very dark and I couldn't see in it if I went under. But I knew that I had to stay in the water. I had to let it soak me. Many times it came up over my head.

For some reason I also recall that at the top of the cliff was a tiny wooden house that I had to cross through to face the lip of the cliff. The small house very much resembled a tree house or wooden shack. It was nothing at all like a full-sized house. It was damaged and creaking, and looked as if it could fall apart and take a nosedive into the water below at any given moment.

I don't remember much after that.

I felt different when I woke up, but in a good way. I felt like I tried to do something that was hard for me to do.

I've read that sexual assault in dreams may have to do with how I feel someone in waking life may be dominating me. I've also read that sex in dreams could mean power. I don't feel like anyone in waking life has power or dominance over me, especially anyone male, in fact, over the years I've been much more independent. However, the one person I can think that has a dominance over me is myself, more accurately, my male self. He is more dominant than my female self and sometimes I even want him to be, if not all the time. I've also just read that war in a dream symbolizes two conflicting parts of personality that are battling each other, which is extremely accurate. This could mean that my male and female egos are fighting each other for control, and strangely, the male version of me in the dream was the strongest, he was in charge, and he was the leader. The female me took his orders without question. He seemed determined to win the "war" and was especially adamant on doing so with the help of my female self.

As far as the water and the cliff goes, I think I felt that I had realized something about myself, and may have been coming to terms with it, to make an important decision, but as I did what I decided, I went back down under the water, and I feel it may have meant that I went back to struggling with myself. But I wonder why Kevin made it sound like I had no choice but to climb down to the water. Maybe I don't feel like I can choose who I am or what I do, because it's not accepted.

Every time I daydream, I picture myself as male or my male character(s), or I daydream situations for them. There is almost always sex, drama, or tragedy involved, but often times adventure and comedy come into play when I'm having a good day. I'm a writer and artist, so I have a strong creative side.

My dream last night was a bit strange, and I felt really weird when I woke up. "Weird" as in "really disturbed."

I don't remember the details, but I do remember something about being in a science class for a brief period of time. The one thing I do remember quite well from this dream is that adolescent boys were sexually attracted to me, and flirted with me, and I actually accepted this and allowed it to happen. It got really off the wall when I felt an attraction in return to a young man who was probably 14.

There were horrible, terrible disasters going on between "scenes" in the dream, and I know that they were natural disasters, something to do with lakes or oceans and tidal waves and... maybe Godzilla, who knows? But even while this was going on, I just didn't seem to be interested, all because some 14-year-old boy wanted to get in my pants.

This doesn't mean that I want to fuck adolescents, either, so don't think that. I felt really strange when I woke up, like I violated someone. I'm not attracted to young people like I was in this crazy dream (well at least those under the age of consent). I tried to just stop thinking about it and eat my breakfast and fix my boyfriend's broken computer.

Since most of my dreams (okay maybe all of them) involve sex in some manner, even when it's terribly inappropriate, I wasn't affected by it for long. I've had worse dreams than this.

What's odd is that most dreams when I meet actual men, I turn them away from me and tell them about my boyfriend. I don't know what this says about my personality, but I hope it's nothing seriously messed up.