Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one
I didn’t want to experience an alternative to the starkness of reality. I’d have abused it. I’d have gotten lost in it. I was lost inside imagination as it was, and that’s designed to seem unreal; only a fool believes their day dreams.
Surely you should be able to distinguish between the insanity you delve into, swim through, when the sanity becomes too sharp, and reality itself? Sometimes I think bodies will step out of my concoction and into the world, continuing on our conversations in corporal form. Are none of these bodies going to form and love me? Is it true nobody will swim through my mind’s eye, dive from my pupils and dry off on the shore of this place, this home? I have to count on the outside people to want me? Perhaps that’s better. I don’t know.
The fact was, I had decided I’d rather keep facing ‘real’ life, with its complete lack of joy, and its continuing disappointments, and its sense of vast helplessness, than lose my mind inside my illusions. Someone of actual existence will step into life one day, I have to be here to notice.
Besides, if I gave myself away to escaping, how could I ever come back to this?