Posted by: bracehare | June 22, 2017

A dream doesn’t mean anything

In 2014, I found myself on the receiving end of a series of epic dreams that, for whatever reason, had sufficient fidelity in their content matter and intensity to give a sense of verisimilitude to them, even though I knew rationally that there was no way these things could be true in the context of my existing knowledge.  I wrote the dreams down in the form of a story, which was mostly done in a sort of lazy impulsive style, which at the time I dubbed automatic writing because that sounded like the right term for some reason.  Since I am a bad writer and did my best not to embellish the story in any way, thinking that accuracy to the dream was more important than trying to apply a craft I suck at to something that was important to me as itself, the quality of the writing was very poor.  However, I now realize that I made a lot of inferences in my writing in order to patch the dream together into a story.  Having looked up the nature of dreams, it is apparently the case that dreams themselves only occur by way of inferences into subtler content that occur automatically during ones sleep.  Therefore, I was making inferences into a network of inferences.  As I went around trying to find out the meaning of these dreams, if indeed there was any, I continued on in this manner, essentially preceding by way of association, taking anything conceptually similar and, by a kind of brute force permutation, moving it around until I had a series of words assembled in relationships that were aesthetically pleasing to me and contained soundbytes of sorts from many assorted philosophies.  Because the dream story was extremely bad, but still for some reason significant to me, this disparity became extremely important to me, especially since the dreams came at a turbulent time in my life and seemed to reflect thoughts and feelings that I already had.  This is of course entirely circular, as it makes perfect sense for a dream to be about thoughts and feelings one already has, but I became schizoaffective shortly after the dreams, and so this obvious tautology did not occur to me.  As I ran around trying to understand what had happened with these dreams, I found a more or less complete lack of interest, which I took as bewildering, since the fact of an 80 page series of dreams alone seemed very significant to me, and since my emotions at that time both as they preceded the dream and as they were encoded within it, were very high, and so this lent a great deal of self-important significance to the dreams, as they were a reflection of sorts of my anxieties and thoughts in a semi-structured but novel form.  People did not seem to have anything to say about them.  I became more and more obsessed by this riddle.  Some people were hostile to my sharing of the dreams, but would not explain why, and this only upset me and made it more urgent to try to understand them, since they had reflected badly upon me in some way.  I became caught in a sort of feedback loop of progressively throwing more and more entirely unrelated ideas at these dreams until they began to emerge in a picture of greater and greater apparent fidelity, all while not actually saying anything.  However, since I was injecting philosophical statements into these things, it seemed as though something was being said, even though it wasn’t.  As I did this, I became more and more schizoaffective.  The more schizoaffective I became, the harder it became to hold myself together except by sheer force of will.  As a result, I started conducting myself in an immoral fashion, cheating and malingering, because I had destroyed the rational faculties necessary for me to function, and the only possible path left forward that wasn’t rational was manipulation.  Because it was already known that I was schizoaffective, I found it effective to fake episodes of irrationality in order to achieve effects that I should have been able to achieve through rational thought.  I was rational enough to behave irrationally in a convincing manner, but not rational enough to actually be rational.  The more I did this, the more untrustworthy I became.  As I became more and more untrustworthy, it was harder and harder to find ways to move forward towards my intended goals, and I more or less went completely off the deep end at that point.  Since I already had anxieties about people disliking me, those combined with my irrationality to produce a state of total irrational panic.  However, by going to a mental hospital, taking medication, and being left alone for a while without going further into the feedback loop, and allowing myself to decompress, I realized over time that none of the nightmare scenarios I kept imagining were actually happening.  Since I am fairly intelligent, I am able to imagine a lot of nightmare scenarios, so it took a while for me to calm down.  As I started to calm down, I realized that all the things that had gone through my head were not real, that if I can’t observe something it is either not real or unfalsifiable, and that unfalsifiable things cannot be considered by randomly assembling them in a meaningless way; that this only produces meaningless information.  So it seems best to me now not to contemplate irrational things, and to try to investigate things in terms of factual and scientific knowledge, because otherwise I will just go insane.

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