Post Date: April 24, 2006 – 12:08 PM
I numb my real day to day life with my imagination. When I’m hurt sad happy bored, etc. I fantasize about something, I build ideas of happiness or whatever I want to feel or see or happen in my mind and I withdraw from reality and live in my imagination. When I listen to music even I see pictures. Movies that go along with the words, the camera almost always on me.
I always thought, and was told, that imaginations are important to have, to nurture them. Mine was always vivid, I played mostly alone as I grew up. I would go off and have incredible adventures all day long, all alone. I wasn’t lonely. When I go into my head now as an adult, I can push away lonliness, depression. I can also bring it on depending on how how self destructive I’m being.
I had an epiphany of sorts this morning… a sumation of events and circumstances building around me.
My grand beautiful elaborate intricate valuable imagintion…
I love it too much. I live in it too much. That’s why I’m so shy, not many people’s company satisfies me more than my own. (that sounds conceited, I don’t mean it that way at all). That’s part of why I’m not further ahead in life, that’s why I don’t let people I love in all the way, until it’s too late, until they think what they have is all they get and it’s not enough.
If the value of a person’s life was measured by the peace and richness of their mind. I’d have it all… Instead, I realize, I haven’t ever strived for greatness or security. I’ve always had it… it’s just not in my hands, touchable by other people, real, and that’s not good.
I’m not enjoying this realization at all.
The Adventures of Bonanza Jellybn... 