I'm honestly confused.

I let a song play out earlier, I stopped it as soon as I realised that I was listening to it - which was after I had started to sing it. It took me straight back to the summer of '04 and... that was so long ago! It's been five years and I suppose it shocks me. It shocks me how my life looked and how it now looks, it was around then, about that time (whether physically or emotional I'm not too sure) that I spent several weeks eating and only eating Thornton's chocolate ice cream.

Oh heavens I know what sparked this. I shouldn't ask questions that I fear I don't need the answers to. In that question I took something up, something that I shouldn't take up - the fear that, the memory that - the way that... I can't tell the difference between memory and imagination sometimes. I recognised this years ago, in my head I can imagine a conversation with someone to a point where it's just as clear as the last conversation I had, often far clearer as I rarely remember what I've said or what has been said to me - unless there is reason and I think on it soon after. I knew this years ago and so took precautions to make sure that my mind didn't make up stories about my life that weren't true where I couldn't remember what was true and what wasn't - it scared me, a lot, but because I saw it for what it was, and how dangerous it was - I seem to have memories of things that I can't have from when I was incredibly young, but I doubt that they're real, rather the imagination of a small child. I know full well that I am capable and so I have to make sure that I don't let my imagination run wild, I'm glad that I keep it in check. I  keep it in check by one means and one means only, which means that when I'm not using this tool my head starts to get crowded and I can't think straight which has often lead to me retreating into a place of depression. To prevent this, to make sure the memories in my head have been actual memories for the last 14 (I think that's when I started this) years, I write. 

Mostly fiction, it began with a story about a girl who ate fruit from a tree by a pool and as she ate the fruit she became a mermaid and swam beneath the waves and went and met the king and queen of the mer people and had tea with them. Then there was my story based on Noggin the Nog which was all about Grolliffe the ice dragon - I remember that I even made an ice dragon from salt dough, it was pop-up story book that I made to go with that story. I discovered Greek mythology and reading Shakespeare about then, and Plato soon after, that developed into my love for by about 2000. I wrote some mad things back in those days, until I got so sick of my short stories and my love affairs with other people's characters that I decided it was time to write a book.

Yet today I was reminded not of that so much, but of those people who I could recognise who imagined stories in their heads and convinced themselves and tried to convince everyone around them that they were true. There were far too many people in our year like that, the effect that it caused on everyone was so horrid. I know people who are still dealing in the aftermath of that and it breaks my heart. I wish I could have saved them, like I saved myself from that, from the fiction to escape the truth, from the imagination that could never cease until it became life.

Only because I trained myself can I now dabble in that world without risking the lies becoming true in my mind, but it's not a good thing to do. The desire to have every conversation that I missed, to help people, to stand up for myself (though I do think that walking away was more powerful, I just wish that I hadn't broken down after and every time I felt the bruises on my back from the stones that hit me, I used to dwell in that - in what I'd say to them now, in what I'd do, but I can't live like that, that's NOT life and I know it deep in my heart - I lay it down and then every time something new happens I take it back up, I have to stop) and it's exactly from things like that which that comes and every single time I have to stop and say no. There is one way to control it, that is to write, I must write a story, work with people I love and know, work on stories that have been and stories that are not yet.

Now... I just did a mini CBT session, oh Tia would be proud! It's almost sunrise now... to bed or no?