Psychosis

Sometimes I think there is a fact about me that I don't think a lot of people realize. They may see it, or know of it a little, but they do not know how severe it is. I love the ficitonal world, all the ones I have read or seen, and people don't seem to comprehend how deep that love is. Not that they should, because if they did, they may just figured how fucked up I truly am. And really, that's anything that I want anyone to see.

 But there are certain occassion when I feel myself slipping. It's like there is this line in between the real world and the fictional world. For most people I imagine it's thick and bold. The dividing line of reality should be a distinct one. Most of the time, I feel like my line is mostly hazy. And I don't know if its because I love the ficitonal world so badly and wish so much for it to be true that I convince myself that it is true or because there really is something mentally wrong with me. If it is the later than it is not surprising and I really accept that. And it's scary how accepting of it I would be. There are moments though, when it's more than just hazy, it's broken. And all of a sudden all of these fictional ideas comes pouring into my head. Some are those of others, stories written by other people that I cling unto so despretly, it's really like I'm trapped in a flood and they are the only thing keeping me afloat. And then there are mine, scavaenging vangeful little things that throw fits if I don't release them unto the world. But they are there, all the fiction, pouring into reality. And it should be something that is overwhelming but it's not. It's small and I barely see it, so engrossed is my mind in the fiction that I barely see the way it dictates my realy life. Little things will happen. I will recall I story I thought I heard someone tell me and tell people of it. It will only be later that I realize it wans't a story I read at all but something that happened to a character in the book once. Or sometimes, particulary with character sof my own creation, my way of thinking about a certian thing will completly morph into the way of thinking of that character. Little things, I don't know them. And even when it's borken, or when it's hazy I am there wishing and hoping it was all real. Sometimes I really do think that it I believe hard enough the things I imagine will come true. And I'm always surprised when they don't.

This isn't a blog about anything in particular.


Fin.
-Keshia

Currently Reading Peter and Wendy  by J. M. Barrie