“In the past, I believe that I’ve derived no real pleasure or relief from writing about attractions that I have had. The pure joy comes from the thinking and imagining. No reality - even the touchstone of pen and paper can compare to what goes on in dreams. “
The above is an entry that I obviously began and never progressed. In the six weeks since I left the house, I’ve had bad and good. A lot of good. The bad has mostly being dwelling underneath and I knew that there would be a reckoning. I actually kept saying that to myself about practically everything.
It’s like a dream to what out of your life. It was not something I ever saw myself doing. And after I did it, the other fantasies just faded away.
The problem today is reality. When you question the past to the degree that I’ve done, you are bound to ask if you’re now seeing what you think you are, feeling what you think you are , knowing the truth. I’ve not tried to leave or change work for fear of too much change. While the book began disorientated, because I left OD and wanted to find my way around Prosebox, I believe the whole period of my life now looks like I was in denial, blinkered. Either that or I look back with bias. And perhaps both can be true and neither are entirely invalid.
My fear was that I’d have to continue to wrestle with the demons that were crowding in around me like the ghostly characters of Beyond Black. I woke up one morning having had a nightmare. Was the nightmare the re-living of something I’d put out of my mind or a premonition of things to come. For things did come and I asked “is this familar”. But my body/brain wouldn’t answer. I had tested waters before.
AM would say, and correctly so, that you should never have to lie - that no one should be feared so much. And I learned a heard lesson about the whiter lies. Fractured, the counselor said and I’m struggling with an adequate understanding. Because sometimes, things don’t make sense. Sometimes I drop things. Sometimes I’m not listening. And it is because I’m tired and a bit broken down. And I ask myself, how long have I been broken?
It seems to me like my life was having AM watch me and find me wanting in everything. Finding my voice. It was always another voice. An older voice that talked about the really important things in life that I took for granted?
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