I Never Anticipated......just how long I'd be keeping it up for, this on-and-off pretending. I started doing it a few years back, and all my alternate person was back then was a fake age and home country. It's only recently that the woman inside my head has been demanding more room in my heart for her own life and loves and problems than I feel able to provide without damaging my own self. She exists only because of my first love, and how my situation prevents us being together. When I first fell in love with him, having never fallen in love before, I was scared to let him go, and I'm not even sure I had the strength to do it at the time. Now, as my first love and I grow closer, this arguably non-existent woman has developed a stronger personality. Oh, she doesn't make appearances in my life, no. But what she does do is take advantage of the fact that she lives in my mind, next door to all my innermost thoughts, loves and fears and aspirations. She spreads herself over all of them, and the longer she stays in me, the less I can control her; she is, after all, developing into more and more of a person as she gets to experience the world through my imagination and emotions. And when I say she takes over my most private thoughts, I mean something like this: for example, if I start getting attached to the idea of enrolling in a certain course during my higher education when I'm older, my imaginary woman, my offspring, if you like, will have already taken that course in her younger days. Then, that idea of mine, that beginning of a dream or fear, becomes hers. She owns it, and by pursuing it, I reinforce in my mind the idea of her reality outside me. Equally, by avoiding her choices as I do, I'm making her real bu letting her control me.
I miss looking forward to my own future, not hers, not her past. I need to kill her, forget her, if I'm to carry on. I don't know how, though. Although I do know that the longer I leave her to grow, the more I die. Anyone who knows me could tell you that it's hard to scare me even slightly. Well, I'm practically terrified now. After all, who isn't scared of dying? Of dying alone and forgotten, not even noticed in the first place? If I let her, this woman will kill me as a person, and what's worse about killing a mind as opposed to a body is that a body's end is mourned, if it really cannot be postponed. It's there, clearly dead, its plight plainly displayed in flesh. Whereas if I let this woman kill me as a person, there'll be no evidence of it. She'll get away with it, and all my achievements, my happinesses and sadnesses will be all but forgotten. That's what I dislike most.
But, as I do with everything to with everything unpleasant that happens, I am pleased, in a way, that I've made this mistake. Because now I really do understand the importance of being honest, particularly to yourself.