My Life is Fiction

I think that none of my life is real. I get such a surreal feeling sometimes when I try to think about it. I think that everything people are saying about me is wrong. I think I made it up. I mean, it's possible, right? That everything that's been going on with my head is just my imagination? Every time I have ever told official-type people about my Voices, they either think I am schizophrenic and I have to explain over and over that they are just my own Voices, they are my thoughts and feelings, they are just ME. Or they tell me I have a very vivid imagination, as evidenced by my passion for writing, and blow me off. But then I tell my shrink about them and he didn't look at me weird. And he started asking other questions. And the weird stuff started happening. And the bad stuff. And then I am being handed strange names for the very Voices I have had all my life.

The things that I think I remember? I think they are fake. After all, there are other things that I remember that aren't real. My Katy... she should have registered today too. She should have been there to guide her little brother around the school and reassure him and make everything easier for him just like he did for the little one registering for kindergarten today. She should have been there. BUT - she isn't real. So, maybe those other things that I am remembering aren't real either. Not real. Figments of my imagination. A bit of undigested meat?

So, I am placing all the things that have been scaring me inside my own mind into the same category as Katy - not real!! It can't hurt me if it didn't happen. Nightmares are only dreams if that's all they are. And my Voices are just my way of expressing my creativity, like my writing...

So, no one needs to worry about me any more. Because I'm fine. My life really was as wonderful as I remember it. Family that loved me, economic needs always met, upper-middle class everything. I said it for years, believed it for years, I believe it again.

I'm sorry if I upset anyone by my fictional tales. They were just dreams. I would quote the lines from the end of Midsummer Night's Dream, but I can't remember them and don't feel like looking them up. I'll guess and paraphrase and see if I can make Monsieur Shakespeare roll over in his grave...

"If we shadows have offended
"Think but this and all is mended
"That you have but slumbered here
"While these visions did appear
"And this weak and idle theme
"No more yielding than a dream"
(Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream, possibly paraphrased)