Private
I do think they're more than dreams. I have the weapon of a Norse goddess, sitting against my wall. I touched Courfeyrac and he flew backward into a doorframe because I suddenly have the strength of Lady Sif.
What I don't understand and can't help but be angry about is that you don't ... this is all shit to you. My friendship, that Alyssa girl, Arya Stark, anyone who isn't part of your stupid dream world. You're writing us all off. We mean nothing to you. And that's a pretty goddamn poor repayment for being your friend.
I want you to be safe, and to be happy, I don't want you longing for something that can never happen. I'm hurt and angry that nothing in this world means anything to you, and that there are a thousand causes that could use your talents and your strength and you choose to focus on whatever these are. You're throwing everything away - including your friends - for phantasms, and I'm hurt, and I'm offended.
And I can't watch you descend into some kind of fugue state that will eventually become permanent, because that's what tends to happen with schizophrenia sometimes. Right now I think there will come a day when you don't come back here anymore. And they'll lock you up, and study you, and you'll be left with a padded wall and a tin bowl pretending you're entertaining a crowd at the Cafe. And I will never forgive you for that.