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.

The Book

I have worked so hard, and I am so fatigued. I have just begun to read the book, Goldstein's book, and I have found that I have already hypothesized much of what is written in it. Right now, I am utterly content to curl up beside Julia and fall into a deep sleep that I need never awake from, until the world has changed. It's soothing to know I am not the only one who has noticed the problems with this society. It's comforting to know I am sane, and I feel quite profound in saying "Sanity is not statistical." This world is so warped, according to Goldstein's book and my own observations, but right now I am satisfied and infinitely hopeful for a future with Julia. We, together, can make a difference and give the proles their chance to create utopia.

One of the Brotherhood

At last we have our place in the rebellion. We have been to O'Brien's home, and we have officially become members of Goldstein's underground organization. We will receive the book, and we will fight against the Party. I have hope that we will make a difference. For Julia, in her mindset, I'm sure this is a little more difficult to look out on. From the present, for us, this makes little or no difference. For the future, this is momentous, and that's what I will live on. For every couple like us, this is an amazing boon.

Worries Coming Back

I had a dream, while in the safe haven with Julia, of how my mother was vaporized and my sister likely killed, as well. It pulled me back into the depression of years past, and to all my worries of taking steps closer to the grave. Julia is a very comforting dear. I admire her carefree nature and ability to simply remain in the present without any worries of the future. It's horrible to think of our impending doom. It doesn't matter when it comes in the future; just the knowledge that it will come is impossible to worm around. However, if I can adopt Julia's state of mind, I can enjoy the existence I have left. That, at least, is comfort. However long we have left, it will be together.

The Brotherhood Exists

I always knew it must, somewhere, somehow. I knew O'Brien had to be a part of it. I can be a part of it, now, and Julia can, too. We can make a difference for the couples like us in the future. It will be a wonderful adventure and we can do our part. I can't describe my emotions from the moment O'Brien approached me to now. I look forward to actually joining, but at the same time I feel trepidation and horror at the risk that I wish to take. It is such folly to actually join and creep ever closer to death, but I am so enamored with the very idea of taking part. I am sure we can and will do it, but what of the danger? What of the awful foreboding I feel deep inside me?

Life Going On

Everyone is in a frenzy for Hate Week. Even we are, at work and in our separate homes. But in our room to ourselves, everything is peaceful and lovely, though very warm. We meet often, and talk often, and I learn things about my Dearly Beloved. She has exceptional insights in matters that relate directly to her own sexuality, but in matters that don't touch her life, she is as much of a sheep as any other girl her age. She's very involved in the present and only the present. If not palpable, with her, it need not be considered. Some of this ignorance, though, makes her a woman of more freedom than I have with my brooding. In the end, we seemed to balance each other out, optimism and pessimism, present and past. Together we are happy, I am happy, and more healthy than I have ever been. Life goes on, wonderfully.

A Place of Our Own

I've rented the room above the antique shop from Mr. Charrington. Even though it's truly idiocy to use the attic, it's worth it just to be out of sight together and to be able to do whatever we want. Julia brings things from the Inner Party to enjoy, and last time she tried some proletarian beauty products. I know the end is coming, but it doesn't matter. I have a happy life right now, and the outside world doesn't matter. We have each other and a home together. The world seems vivid and vibrant, outside of the posters of Big Brother. We have a world inside the world where we rule supreme over ourselves. We are free.

So Rarely Together

Our fear of getting caught is so great, we rarely see each other, and less often still conduct a coherent conversation. We may see each other in the quarters of the proletariat, but quite often do not even utter a thing to one another then. We do not touch often. Our lives are quite separate, and forced farther apart still by the watchful eye of the telescreen and the Thought Police. When we do talk, usually in short snippets when the coast seems clear, I find Julia less interested in the moral issues of this world than I. She's quite a headstrong girl and solidly a rebel in every affair that affects her, but not a one that doesn't. She comforts, though, in her own way, and lead a somewhat optimistic life that I can't help but be sucked into.

Her Name Is Julia

We met, and a dream came true. A dream I had a while ago, of the dark-haired girl's clothes simply flying off her body as if of their own accord, and moreover, the meaning of that act, has become reality. We listened to a thrush warbling in the woods. And though I felt tenderness, it is not towards her, Julia, just yet. For now it's still all dissolved in the general fear and hatred that this world promotes. For now, it is just a political act. However, I have hope, as I must have, that one day there will be pure love and intimacy without a shadow of the hate and fear we are now absorbed by. If not for Julia and me, then it must someday exist for the future.

The Dark-Haired Girl

A new hope for life has come over me. Sometime, after I read that note, a desire to live welled up inside. It is a wish for survival that exists only to stay alive to be with the dark-haired girl. Perhaps the Brotherhood is real, and perhaps its existence can feed some change into Oceania. We together, the dark-haired girl and me, might help the change to take form. If we stay quiet and undiscovered, the mere act of our joint thoughtcrime could begin a new Oceania and a new Airstrip One. I can only hope that our thoughtcrime brings us to the place without darkness, instead of to a place of only darkness six feet under the ground.

For the Future

Down with Big Brother.
Down with Big Brother.
Down with Big Brother.

This world isn't right. There's something wrong with it, far beneath the surface, that the naked eye can't see. Beneath the grime, grit, and gruesome posters, there is something, something that can bring us to the land without darkness. Somewhere, hidden in the lies and broken history is something to stop the Party. There must be something to stop Big Brother.
How long has the world been like this? Has it always been this bad? Has it ever been worse? What was England, before Big Brother began the Revolution?
I will die. Everyone will die. The queen bee always eats the drones. It doesn't matter if you're guilty of thoughtcrimes or not, eventually you will be vaporized. If you don't think, your mind dies, if you think, you're vaporized. So where does the hope lie?
Will Newspeak destroy the word hope? What about faith? Will the word spirit die? What happens when what makes the people human is destroyed?
What happens when the children grow up?