Chapter 45
August 15/2022
Dear Deary,
"Mi fai impazzire." — "You're driving me crazy."
My dreams are driving me crazy. Sometimes it seems to me that I myself create my dreams, not consciously of course. My dreams are somehow subconsciously connected with what is happening in my life.
My brain works in a weird way. Sometimes I don't sleep because my mind has its own idea of the continuation of this or that book (or movie), even if this continuation does not exist.
I fell asleep and I dreaming hot nights in the arms of people who might like to me (like actors or singers whose work I admire). My brain sometimes drives me crazy.
I don’t even know how to stop my thoughts, I constantly think about something. A lot of gears are always spinning in my head, as if it’s not a brain at all, but some kind of extremely complex clock, and the clock mechanism will never stop in it.
I wonder if it could be that my dreams are really a projection of my subconscious? After all, if you believe the observations of scientists, this is how sleep works.
My subconscious mind works in a strange way, sometimes I even know the future. Nobody will believe it, but it's true. I have twice predicted the future or not quite the future, because I am not sure about one of these predictions of mine, because it really happened, but not in the future.
In general, for the first time, I really guessed the future. I guessed my first kiss. I just woke up and from the very morning until the moment when it really happened, one line was spinning in my head, throughout the day my brain brought me back to this line repeating it over and over again: "This winter evening and my first kiss." And everything was really like in this line. Winter, evening and my first kiss. After that, even a song about my first kiss was born, the world hasn't really seen it, but I hope that this year or next the world will still recognize the song that I wrote at the age of seventeen.
The second case is not really the future, but rather the past. In general, my mother and I were returning home, and when we were near the house, I suddenly said: "There was a woman with a big dog in our yard and she was knocking on the window." I don't know why I said this, but when we entered the house, I asked my father: "Did a woman with a big dog knock on our window?" And what was it like to know that it was true. Father confirmed that a woman with a dog came and knocked on one of the windows of our house. It was my mother's client, but it's not that important. It turned out I even saw what color the dog was. I clearly saw spots of two colors before my eyes: black and white. And as it turned out later, the dog was exactly these two colors, black with large white spots. Of course no one believed me, but that didn't surprise me. Nobody believed me in principle. And who would believe? I'm the only person who believed me. I'm the only one who has always believed to me.
It may seem strange, but what if my brain in some areas of its subconscious works differently or is more developed than others? While I sometimes go insane for one reason or another, this is definitely not the kind of crazy that people are used to seeing in films or even seeing people with mental illnesses.
Honestly, I don't know all the secrets of my own mind myself, but this is what my mind really is, and it's strange that it doesn't even scare me, never scared, but maybe it will scare others.
Even my memory works differently. I often could not remember the answers to test questions at school and technical school, and sometimes even poems at school that forced me to memorize. But I still remember the verse that I learned in 2014, I remember it from beginning to end and in exact sequence, sometimes the words are cloudy like a city in a fog, but I still remember it even after eight years and I can read it at any time. I remember memories that usually no one remembers. It's strange when you sit with someone remembering your joint past and you start clearly and quickly in the smallest details and you can even roughly name when it happened to describe your memory, but the person does not remember it at all. It's like I'm talking about something that never happened and he's hearing about it for the first time. I had it so many times and these memories are real and I didn’t invent them, but for some strange reason only I remember, as if someone erased their memories or took them as a payment, but I still have it. I even remember people from early childhood, when I didn’t even go to school, and I remember the dates of birth of people who I don’t remember for a long time. Also, my mind can store the ideas that are born in my head for a few years at least.
Apparently my mind really works in some incredibly amazing way that even I can’t properly explain how it happens.
