The hardest part of having a mental illness is probably the reminders from more critically minded people. My last relationship seemed a constant reminder for over a decade. I am probably an optimist and a fool mostly as I see a skewed view of reality. Things to me seem better than they probably are. My imagination is my window on the world. When I spoke to my fathers psychiatrist my optimism was torn down by the sheer reality of my fathers condition and life. The psychiatrist was brutally realistic whereas I had tried to create a better reality through positive words and ideas. I had tried to change the story. In my own life I constantly do the same thing. I try to see positives. The reality though is quite the opposite.

Sometimes I feel like I need to address these inconsistencies but it would mean living in reality. My whole life I have lived in my imagination. I have imagined a better life and better outcomes. Then I am reminded. No you are not 100% and you are dropping the ball. Picking up the pieces would mean living a different life. It would be less positive at least symbolically. Who are you without other people? Who are you without healthy goals? Reality seems scary. Suddenly all of the walls come down. There is no graffiti or art. No pointless goals. That is what I have always wondered. Why have I done everything to avoid reality. I never took drugs though or went down that path. I simply built a story. I didn’t want to be the person who was not 100% or the odd one out. I wanted to create my own reality and be my own person. I wanted to be great at what I did even if what I did was making up stories.