I’ve often wondered if obsessions are good or bad. I think there’s a danger for people with mental illness. Next thing you know, you’re ducking behind some bush on Quentin Tarantino’s estate.
Once I latch upon an idea or ideation, it’s hard to let it go. I realize it’s my illness, sometimes. And sometimes, I go too far and destroy my reality.
Had a wonderful dream last night. Someone came back to me that I care deeply about. Hated waking up. Repeated his name when I woke up, how I wish it were true.
I became obsessed with a guy once. Didn’t realize it was my illness in full swing until I had made a fool of myself.
Sometimes obsessions are nothing more than ways to occupy my mind. Hell, I need to find better things to do. Like crocheting or something.
Hopefully, things will get better for me. And dreams will come true, at least once.