[three hundred]
How does anyone identify with anything? I mean, I identify with music and Canada and literature and glossy advertisement of fashion sometimes, but none of those things define me in a general, broad sense. I wouldn't say music defines me, although some pieces could potentially take my entire life and turn it upside down, but that is from my perspective, from my little vision, and my vision has never been that good to begin with, ever since I was the chubby four-eyed girl in kindegarden turning down boys marriage proposals.
They only liked me for my purple sweaters anyway, I didn't play sports or draw well, I just talked to everybody and was a little shy around the "popular" kids, and I ran around and played on jungle gyms and in the sand, and red rover and picked flowers and told secrets. I was a normal kid, but there was never really anything to identify me, for me to say "I'm a --, I can do this."
I loved movies, I loved watching Disney and ET and Twister, Pretty Woman, Phantom of the Opera, Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat, Land Before Time, Chrsitmas movies, and so many more that took me away to a different place. I started to read early, and those took me furhter away, and eventually I lived in a fantasy world, and that seems to be the closest for me to identify with, my imagination, my clear and concise identification with things that aren't there; the abstract, my love of anything that was fictional, invisible, or untrue.
In a world where everyone strives to identify with truth, I looked to the unknown and undefined to identify with.
I guess that is a constant in my life. I love my imagination. This has been a realisation right here: I identify with fiction. I live and breathe my life through a lense, through a gas mask that filters out the stable solid truths and lets in the questions, the curiosities, the discoverings, the things that could be argued or changed or modelled, imagined, unclarity. I wanted to always be away, off on adventures doing things that people may have already done, but I wanted to do what I wanted within those things, within those adventures.
I wanted to be a Spice Girl in an RV, but I didn't want to be one of the Spice Girls, I wanted to be me in their situation. I wrote myself into movies, books, novels, music, musicals, oral stories, myths, tv shows, everything and anything I could think of, and...admitedly, I still do.
I live in my fantasy. I live in this world where people appreciate my smile. That sounds like the most selfish thing I have ever written in my entire life. But I think that regardless of my ignorance to the fact that obviuously people ignore my smile, I regain and establish confidence within that fact. I feel proud of my smile, and if I live in this fantasy world where my imaginary friends never really left, but they appreciate my smile, they're watching me.
What are they, angels? They are an invention, just like the Evil Easter Bunny and the infinite spiders in the bunk bed that I convinced my sister would eat her if she didn't sleep. My fears, my constructs, I have invented them all and voncinced myself of reality. I live in a story, a lifetime playing movie free for all, my life, but in my head it is fictional. That's probably why I fall in love with all of the characters that I write, because to me they live in real life in my head.
I'm psychotic.
I am also Einstein.
To be perfectly honest, I am incredibly happy in the fact that I can finally identify with something. I am imaginary. I am a construst. How poetic. But it is satisfying to know that something in this world is stable. I've always believed that there has been nothing for me to be passionate or really good at, but it is true, I can think of something better or worse, funnier, happier, slower wetter anything I can think it all up.
Last semester I went through a dark phase where I spent my days living for the night. I spent my days looking forward to my dreams because... My dreams were bettter than my reality. I...wow, I can't believe I'm actually going to..I dreamt that I was living in England in an apartment with three of the most random people I could've imagined in one apartment, I was in love with coffee and wore cute vintage dresses and worked at a radio station/theatre in the downtown London area, and helped out at a studio/theatre during the evenings. I dreamt that I had relationships with people there, that I had a life there, and everyday I would wake up in the morning and live my reality, go to class and see people and it was like the reality wasn't real, my night time, my dreams, were my reality.
I was living the life I wanted inside my head. I was living my dreams as my actual life, I was living my fictioin so that I could be happy. I guess it was good then, that I had practised so much imaginary within my years leading up to this, otherwise I would've probably not made it through last semester. Somedays I'm still living for my dreams, but I'm working on it, I'm doing my best to take the real reality, the everyday life, my awake life, as a lovely beautiful thing.
But there are some days,
the days where I don't want to get out of bed because I can live in my head in bed. I can sleep and take care of all of the things that I want to in there, I can be who I want to be and be happy. I can be happy both ways, but it's not a balance I need. I need to realise that this reality is the reality I need to identify with too.
So if you have something to identify with, I suggest you express it. I just basically laid out something that I've held inside for a while, only have told a couple people about that, and those people would tuck me into bed everynight last year, making sure that I woke up, and may or may not have brightened it a little. It's gotten better, but I still identify with my imagination. That is something that defines me.
Clearly I think so, I love the world inside my head.
Yours till the end of the world,
Jess :]
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