A24 Could Never

Hello ghost friends… it’s been a while.

I’ve been meaning to come here. A few things happened that made me go, “this is good for the blog.” but then life does that thing where it keeps moving and suddenly it’s two/three weeks later and the thought has rotted in the back of my head. I’ll write about them soon. But today I come with something urgent. I need to get this out before it curdles inside me.

I woke up angry today.
Because of a dream. (what?)
Yes, a dream that stirred my emotions like tomato soup; thick, red, chaotic, sloshing everything around.

It was the worst kind of dream, too: the real kind. The kind that resurrects events you’ve spent years burying, only to have them show up like they never died, just took a short nap inside your subconscious and then decided to clock back in.

And the worst part? I remember everything. The plot. The people. The way the air drifted. The way my heart dropped like it was trying to escape my chest. That sharp, familiar mix of longing and betrayal…

It’s stupid how our bodies don’t know it’s “just a dream.” They just react anyway.
The heart sprints. The throat closes. The stomach tightens like it’s trying to hold emotions in place. You wake up furious, like someone actually hurt you while you were defenseless, asleep, minding your own business in another dimension…

I’ve always been fascinated by that world, how it can build entire stories out of leftover scraps: old conversations, songs you haven’t heard in years, memories you swore you forgot. It recycles everything. Nothing goes to waste. My brain is basically an unpaid filmmaker with a super low budget, emotionally manipulative, forever premiering new traumas at 4 AM.

And what gets me the most is how real they feel. We don’t just watch them. We feel them. We cry, laugh, love, grieve, panic. We fall off cliffs. We hug the dead. We fight people who aren’t there. And somehow our hearts keep score. The brain doesn’t distinguish between “real” and “imagined” emotion, it just files everything under: please process.

And here’s what kills me: it’s 2025, and we still don’t fully understand why this happens. No facts, just speculations. Like, we can make robots write poetry and cars drive themselves, but we can’t explain why my ex shows up in my dream wearing the same shirt from 2019, asking if I still listen to “our song.”

They say dreams are how the brain processes unfinished business. The very things we shove into emotional storage closets and lock. And then, at night, while the so-called “adult in the room”, yes, I’m talking about you, prefrontal cortex, finally shuts up, the limbic system, the drama queen, takes over. So basically, we’re all heart, no logic. Which explains EVERYTHING but NOTHING at the same time. *pulls out her own hair*

And yet… I kind of love that.
That even in sleep, my mind insists on feeling everything I refuse to feel when I’m awake. It’s dramatic. It’s exhausting. It’s like being haunted by your own emotional backlog. But it’s necessary.

Maybe that’s why dreams linger long after we wake up. They’re the most unfiltered versions of us, messy, loud, inconveniently truthful.

Like, if my subconscious had a voice, I’m pretty sure it’d be yelling at me in a dark parking lot somewhere, waving a list of unresolved issues and saying, “We’re not leaving until you deal with this!”

I can almost see it, I swear, my brain in a wrinkled black hoodie, grabbing me by the arms, slamming my face onto a cold iron table, screaming, “You’re not escaping this. Feel it.”
And I do.
Because apparently, even my REM cycle is dramatic.

I don’t know why some dreams feel like they have claws, hanging on to you like your cat does when you’re about to give them a shower. Why some slip away by breakfast, while others sit beside you in traffic, tapping their ghostly fingers on your shoulder. Maybe dreams are just the universe’s way of sneaking feelings past security. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s the point.

Because even when I wake up angry, even when my chest hurts for no logical reason, it means something inside me is still alive enough to feel it. And I’d rather feel too much than nothing at all. (this is something I’ve been working on accepting lately).

I will mention a quote that I’ve probably mentioned here a couple of times already: “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” 

Feel it, hate it, love it… just… acknowledge it.

And ya… this was my morning, how is yours going?! Tell me. 

Now I get to go live my day with my avoidant heart, knowing well that I allowed my brain to vomit here so it doesn’t bother us for the rest of the day, and then comes back at night and takes its revenge. What a sweet cycle. 

See you again soon, lovelies.

XOXO

FFB