The concept of death is so odd. I'm under the assumtion, or rather belief, there's no afterlife because that's just how my brain works. Maybe there is an afterlife, I'm not betting on it, though. But if there really is nothing... You assume that nothingness is forever, obviously. Endless nothing. For the rest of forever. But that concept is unable to be comprehended by the brain. It's just black. That's what you fill it in as, and for however long you imagine it, that is 'forever.' But it simply wouldn't be. In death, you could not perceive nothing, and you couldn't perceive a forever. Your senses and brain activity would not exist. But by that logic, that would be nothing until brain activity returns. Which, it may never will, obviously. But if it did, death would just appear as a mere blink, would it not? If death is imperceptable, you would perceive life, die, and perceive life once more. Again, assuming revival is even possible. It's just bizzare to me. When people think of death, I would imagine they actually mean the state of being in a coma. Because there, there's still brain activity, there are things happening, things being perceived. I remember an internet story of somebody's friend describing their coma as having the feeling of being able to fly endlessly. And they had actually committed suicide in order to experience it again. Only, they wouldn't be able to, would they? Again, difference between brain activity. Of course, it's all assuming the concept of an afterlife doesn't exist, which, by all means, maybe it does.
I'm always scared, yet curious of my dreams. I've had reoccuring dreams that usually don't mean shit, or spooky things related to my parents, or murder. I've been wondering what those dreams will morph into once I'm in a body I can comfortably call mine, and a house I'm comfortable in, maybe enough to pace around in. It'll likely never happen, but it's something to think about... I need to get better at drinking water before sleeping and after waking up. I've heard it helps with dream recollection.
Thinking about the odd desire to be abused. Thinking it'd somehow turn me into a grimly cute, childish girl who's capable, perhaps over-capable of expression, of tears, and feeling anything past emptiness. I don't think I have the capacity to think about why I act how I do anymore. Dissociation and memory loss are cruel mistresses. They make you a sad monster that can't even step back and figure out what went wrong. A sad monstress, if you will... I'm partially glad of my stoicism. It's probably the reason I've survived for so long. The age old tactic of showing no emotion, no weakness. On the contrary, it makes me feel as if I'm subhuman. Unable to cry, or even form tears, aside from yawning.
...When I get dementia, I hope they put me down as soon as possible.