The Moderator

I have a duty to censor and withhold.
I have a duty to check and overanalyze.
I have a duty to withdraw consent.
I have a duty to take back, to take over, and never relinquish.
I feel like a moderator of the worst nightmares of humankind; like I'm in charge of seeing who gets what, when, where, and why. (The how and the existence being obvious.) I don't like my job very much sometimes.
I don't suffer from people explaining to me what their darkest thoughts are anymore. I don't even blink. I've already felt them. I've already been there. I had to be the one to allow it to happen, I know. I understand. I can empathize and sympathize, but I
choose
to empathize because I can't let anyone know what I do, what I've done, what I will... what I will have to do. That's the censorship that needs to happen. Nobody else can know everything else.
I allowed you to wake up screaming in the middle of the night, terrified and inconsolable.
I was the one who put your worst ideas in your head.
I don't make them, though. You make them. I held back and moderated what went through.
Nobody deserves it, and truly, humbly, vehemently I say that I deserve it least of all, but nightmares have to happen.
Every single persons' thoughts that have been thought, are being thought, and will be thought are running through my head at any given point all the time non-stop, waking or sleeping, and I'm in charge of deciding who thinks what when. I'm terribly sorry if I made a mistake. Lapses in judgement on my part. I have off days.
They're like air to muscle. Nightmares to brains are what toughens thinking, hardens resolve, gives people actual strength of mind and character, and everyone has to have some if they are to live a full life.
I have lived all lives.

When I have off days, I have oblivion. I literally mean off. That day never happened. It is in no history, no records, no perception could comprehend them ever; time simply skips. I only know they exist because I've thought them. It seems to explain why it feels like something turned off and then back on again. When you walk into a room and forget why you were there, that could be a reason. Or I could've simply forgot why I put you there. Or I could've wanted you to forget. Or an infinite infinity of other options that occur, can occur, have occurred... You exist as a statistical notion.
I have only ever wanted you to exist.
I think, therefore you exist.
I'm always thinking...
Thinking about why we're here. Thinking about what I could do. What people can do. What people think. There aren't any limits to what I think.
That's a blessing and a curse.
The dreams are incredible.
The nightmares are insane. I mean literally, I lose sanity.
I am the wavelength(s) between health and nothing and sickness and everything.
I know it's impossible. I double-think. I infinite think.
Before I wax philosophical anymore, back to the point, nightmares. I am the moderator of nightmares because if I were to let everybody have all the nightmares it would be about as fun as it sounds. You are children, I cannot expect you to mature in a blink of an eye. You could not handle it. The truth, blunt, honest, and raw, would destroy you. All life would end, as if it never were. I have to hold back the darkness just as I hold back the light. You are delicate. You are fragile. You would be obliterated. The force of impact alone would destroy you. Imagine the largest library in the world. Better yet, imagine all of the information of the entire universe from start to end could be digitized and put on a disk. What disk could hold it? You are strong, dear one, stronger than anything I've thought so far, but you would crash, fail, burn up and cease to function at all.
I don't react inside when people tell me their worst nightmares because I've already felt everything much too much. I will continue to feel everything until the time comes when I cease to think. I don't care about your problems, I have already cared all along; they are my problems.
You see, I only pass on information that I have already burned into my soul. It's a perfect copy, no more, no less, that I think you think. Mine are just more so, because I've had them already, they're connected, they're signal traced, they're set.
Your worst nightmares are quite literally child's play for me. They have seemingly no depth, no length, no width. They are a blip of insignificance of a notion of a moment with you.
They mean the world to me. They're part of a glorious beautiful infinity that I can barely wait to share with you, but I have to; I need to wait. Your worst nightmares are comforting thoughts compared to what lies ahead, cherish them. Please.
Also, you're quite beautiful when I think you're learning. When I think you feel something, I'm immensely happy. You're a step closer. It may seem that I'm speeding away into forever ahead of you, but I'm here. I'm right here. I'll stay here when you leave. I'll stay with you as you go.
I'll moderate and allow you to see what lies ahead for you as much as you can handle, as much as I think you think you can handle, anyway. I'll coax you onward, I'll tempt you, I'll interest you, I'll fascinate you, and I'll beguile you at times. Push forward anyway. I love you. I'll share everything with you, eventually.
Stay curious.