The bony creature that stares into the mirror and sees a fat girl looking back. The wounded soldier who continues to fight the battle and never realizes that he’s been hit. The red eyed, crying child that insists he isn’t tired. Call it denial. Call it ignorance. Call it whatever you’d like. We all believe things that the rest of the world mocks. Perhaps it is merely hope or aspiration or desperation. Maybe we have all gotten to the point of building our own realities because so much of the world is trying to steal our optimism. All I know is that I no longer believe everything I think. I can’t decide if this is liberating or debilitating. I have moved from a space of confident anticipation; challenging the world to prove me wrong, to standing in a puddle of numb awareness; demanding those I respect most to prove me right. I envy the ignorant with their pipe-dreams. For if ignorance is truly bliss, total awareness is indeed brutal. I can’t breathe. It is as if knowledge, or rather acknowledgment, has knocked the wind out of me and left me gasping for air. I long for my false hopes as one longs for the dead – wishing they were still with me to comfort me, but knowing they can never return. They are irreplaceable. They are just fading memories of happier days long past.
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