I’ve been thinking a lot the last few days about when I realised there was something different about my brain. It’s not something you can time and date stamp, no specific moment in time, no light bulb. I would consider myself a quiet child. Thoughtful maybe. I lived in my imagination when I played. My childhood was in no way unhappy, but real life just didn’t interest me all that much I guess; so I invented new places. I distinctly remember as a kid the feeling I got when my friends had grown past pretending and wanted to do different things. I was deeply upset by that, I felt embarrassment, shame, disappointment and sadness. Looking back, everything kind of changed then. I felt like I had to live in the world I was born into, a place I’d never really wanted to live in.
I remember always viewing things as an outsider. I had plenty of friends, I was always a confidante for people, I could always just understand how people were feeling really well. I still can. I think that empathy is part of the problem. When you feel everything so deeply, so personally, this world we live in is a truly difficult place to navigate.
Honestly I don’t think I’ve really grown up. My emotions are so difficult to handle, to understand. Any time it gets too much I regress into my imagination, invent something else. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s imagined.
I remember the first time music really made an entrance into my life. I was in the back of mom and dads car on the way to eye hospital, and Sacrifice by Elton John came on the radio. I remember hanging on every word, every note. At the age I was I didn’t really understand the lyrics well, but something in them spoke to me, as cliche as that sounds. Music has enabled me over the years to dive into new worlds and old memories alike. It helps me let my emotions fly without hurting myself or people I love.
I fear that this post will make me look foolish, that people won’t understand. It’s just how I feel.

One thought on “Imagination

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