And then I broke down

“You may not make me whole, but you keep me from falling apart.”
Romantic but untrue. What about, “I am your undoing. You are my destruction.”

Lies. I keep telling myself lies. To get me through. I willingly contradict them moments later, but they are my life as it should be in imagination. At first my imagination let them pass, rolling around in their contradictions happily, let out to play away from reality. If an imagination can frolic (and I am sure they can because imaginations can do anything one imagines) then mine surely did when the lies I tell myself first took hold of it. Prior to him the lies were small, fantasies of an alternate simultaneous reality, the same cast of characters but different interactions and meanings. And the futures! Oh the futures they all had. Anything was possible, all the doors were open! Now the lies are bigger, but even the fantasies of this alternate simultaneous reality, while stronger than ever, these fantasies have no future. Because they change, moment to moment to make room for new lies. And the lies come too fast to build a dreamscape and instead the sub-reality of my imagination is a whirlwind of color and bodies and voices and emergent truths, combating the lies no matter how hard I try to keep them intact. Its joy at starting into oblivion, at the unnavigatable mess my mind has created.