One Stroll at a Time
It's been a bad way to start a day. I woke up from a bad dream which surely poisoned my mood, I may have gotten just 4 hours of sleep, and pain is kicking in my internals so we all know what that means. My diary is my best friend for the day seeing as I don't trust myself to talk to anyone. My need for attention and affection will overwhelm, but at least it's temporary. It's very much a visible beast that's looming over me so at least I can set it to guard the entrance of the labyrinth. Good boy. I'm just going to take a little stroll.
When my dad was younger, he had a mental space called The Desert where he'd imagine all the people he hated were running for their lives in this hot barren desert while he drove after them in a jeep. I found that fascinating seeing as I had a similar mental space called The Gray Room, where I spend my time escaping everyone, reading or writing or listening to music on the most comfortable bed. It's always nighttime there, and the moon is always a full moon. What was fascinating about it was how dad's space was outdoors, mine was indoors. He brought people to him to torture, I isolated myself. And I've always considered that only dad and I were the introverts in the family. Different uses of the imagination. Now, the gray room is part of a house, the house's backyard is a green labyrinth, all on the edge of the woods that serve as a portal to all the worlds I've created. It's against the rules to reveal so much though.
I walk deeper into the labyrinth because I don't know any other way to express how much I need to escape here. Just for a little while then I'll come back. I'm supposed to go somewhere. I'm supposed to find it. It's oddly reassuring though. It smells like lime here.
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