Big Brother is Forever

I love Big Brother. That’s all there is left. I realize what insanity I was dealing with for months and months when I thought the waking world was actually a dream, and the dream the waking world. 2 + 2 = 5. I understand that now. I finally recognize the world for what it is, and I finally accept it. However, when I still dream of being with Julia, a sick feeling envelops me as she coddles me and nurses me, and I wish to vomit at my own love of the Party.

Room 101

There is no worse torture than my dream last night. Once my intimate plan, to lock myself away deep in my heart, was discovered, their final torture was finally to come. Rats are horrible. They are unendurable. The very idea that they can bore through my skin and eat me away is sickening. I put Julia in my stead, to save me from the rats. Immediately after, the dread deep in my bowels returned. I'm sorry, Julia.

A Reprieve

The dream has taken on a more comforting quality. It’s monotonous, and much more human than the cruelty of before. I can lock my emotions in the depths of my heart and leave my mind to be theirs. I still love Julia, and that was comforting, and I can thus stand to be near her in the waking world, in our secret haven. I need her now, too, to remind me to be unorthodox, because in my dream my spirit is entirely broken, and it rubs off on my life. It’s difficult. I have to use doublethink to think my way out of doublethink. It’s like my life awake is a mirror image of my life in dreams, so that one is the other reversed.

State of Humanity

O’Brien says I am the last vessel of humanity, but I look so weak, frail, and sick that it is impossible that this is the state of humanity. It is impossible that the proles will never rise up like Goldstein has assured. Even if it may be thousands of years until they do, they will eventually. My waking world is now one of steady distress and brooding over my constant dream. I still go to the Community Center and very rarely even see Julia, but my heart and mind are in the Ministry of Love. O’Brien has abused me in this dream, yet I still trust him. I dwell on that. I dwell on the dream as a whole, the cause of the never-ending nightmare, I dwell on if it will over come to be reality outside my own mind, where it already is.

Torture

The dream is now constant. It’s like I’ve forgotten that I work at all, and all my memories are of this awful, never-ending dream. I could swear I spend all my time in the Ministry of Love, because the my dream is so vivid and prominent in my mind during all my waking hours. It’s a horrible dream, a continuous drawl of torture and desperate confessions. I wake every morning already tired, and so desperate for a break. It seems like my time in reality is becoming less palpable than my dream, like my dream can overtake true reality and become what is real. That is the most horrifying of all, the knowledge that this is coming, and I have no way to stop it. I can almost believe already that the Party controls reality, because I’ve been through it so much in sleep. It’s like unorthodoxy is being driven out of me, without any external force acting upon me. Perhaps this is how I’m trying to save myself.

The Ministry of Love

My dream has become continuous. Every time I go to sleep, it continues where I left off. The prison cell, the first one I was in, was so dreadfully dirty, and everyone was so afraid. Everyone there for political reasons, at least. I couldn’t feel any emotion in there, besides the dreadful fear. I couldn’t feel love for Julia, but just think that I do love her. That should never happen. That is one step closer to betraying her. I can’t do that. And it was the place with no darkness. Is that where I should meet O’Brien? What a horrible way to meet again! And there was a man, starving, just like I was beginning to starve in there. The Ministry of Love shall be the first pile of soil thrown into my grave once I’m in it.

Captured

I had a dream they finally caught us. I was sharing an epiphany with my Dearly Beloved, and they caught us, right there, in our safe haven. And would you believe it, Mr. Charrington was an officer of the Thought Police! It was such a terrible dream; they hit Julia and she was writhing on the ground. I could not help her. There was nothing I could do to help her. What a miserable dream it was, with such helplessness and fear. They had clubs, and they led us away, apart from each other. There was no sign I could give Julia to provide her with comfort. The worst of it is, I know it will come true. We are, after all, already dead. It’s that dread now, that’s killing me. It’s the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that I know it’s coming and every time I see Julia, it comes a step closer. What horrible fear.