When I was a kid, I was terrified that I was crazy. I had few friends, and even then I felt that I was an outcast among them… So I came up with an alternate world. That is where my stories took place. Sooner or later, it felt more like reality than the real thing… and I never wanted to leave it.
Later in life (not by much, admittedly) I was struck by the feeling that I would never find someone who would love me. I know that sounds pathetic. It was. So, in my alternate world, I would create someone who could be my counterpart. Sure, it was never enough to just write about the perfect man, but it would suffice until I actually found one. This man would not only haunt my thoughts and my paper, but also my dreams. My dreams were already saturated with my Otherworld. In fact, I have a different name in my dreams. I don’t know what it is, but I do (because when I wake up, I don’t know what my name is, and it comes as a shock when I finally figure out my real name).
So this alternate world that was a figment of my mind—but had become much, much more—I began calling it My Only Reality. The dream-man was called Reality, as well.
But I no longer have need for him, because I met him in real life. We have been together for over 3 years.
In essence: My Only Reality has been a part of me. A part of my mind and my heart, and it is a concept that I believe kept me alive in my darkest hours.
Why did I share this Reality with the world?
Why not? It got me through a rough time with its randomness, and if it could distract someone else from the crushing grip of depression, then I feel I have no right to keep it to myself alone.
And, so I end this post with the cutest picture of a baby bat.