There were things this season that I imagined. I imagined these things that developed into entire scenarios with their own little backstories and outcomes and consequences.
These scenarios were not positive scenarios.
And so they took turns eating at my stomach and brain with their acid teeth.
And what happens? The scenarios never took place. They were shadows of doubts rising and falling inside my head. And those doubts were never substanciated and they never became anything more than phantoms of terror with their smoke and mirrors.
Such wasted energy.
I do this to myself. And it happens more than it should. But I give in to this fabrication.
I give the life to these life leeches.
But when it is over I can breathe again. I walk away strengthened, as if I survived some terrible ordeal. I feel victorious.
But that victory is mine and mine alone, because that is as far as this war of the imagination will ever reach.
Oh, the perils of a fevered imagination!
But it is something to live with. Like breathing and blinking and swallowing. Acceptance gives way to automation.
-Saaaktumbre! I just made that up. It was fun.
