As a very unhappy sixteen year old, I started writing as a coping mechanism. The stories I created were my means of escaping all the darkness and pain that surrounded that period of my life. They were futuristic projections of some imaginary life I hoped to one day create for myself. My imaginings were so vivid and so real to me that I actually began believing that they were going to become my reality. This idea was completely irrational, however, though I'm going going into the reasons why. Suffice it to say, I became a little delusional and was greatly unsettled when my those delusions were shattered shortly after graduation.
I've come to the decision that I should not use my imagination to create what I want my life to be. The future and any expectations and desires placed therein must be flexible in order for possibility to work its magic and allow life to form with pleasing results. My stories are too detailed, too vivid, too concrete. There is no logical way for them to become reality because people are flawed and situations rarely work precisely the way we hope.
So, I think that from now on, instead of trying to create the future, I am going to attempt to rewrite my past. A lot of it I'd like to sponge away. So maybe between my imagination and my forgetfulness, I can recreate my memories, cutting out the bad parts and piecing together the good. Then maybe I can transform my vision of who I was and who I am in order to create a better who I will be.
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