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I’m a writer, artist and poet, which means I fantasize quite a bit. Sometimes I fear I spend more time in my head than I do in the real world. In the recesses of my mind, anything is possible. The colors are brighter, the adventures more exciting, the people more fascinating. When I’m in that space, I feel comfortable. Joyous. Sometimes it’s hard to come back and rejoin reality.
And that’s exactly the problem. Sometimes the fantasy is so seductive, so compelling, that I start to think that it is reality–or, at least, could be. This can affect how I interact with others. In my effort to affirm the fantasy, I start to ascribe to them feelings and motivations that they may not actually have. I want the fantasy to be real. Continue reading