Blind Spot

I'm profoundly scared of delusions, of being delusional. It's a trick I have played on myself, an illusion built up by constructing what I want to see, what I hope to see, rather than the reality of what's actually there.

It's a bad habit, I know, to be all up in my head, to prefer the lies of my imagination that let me keep the status quo for a little while longer.

But reality makes its presence known sooner than later, and you're forced to evaluate the steps you took that prioritized comfort over truth. The truths that are gritty and shitty, but which are at least real. It's a constant battle — the beautiful lie or the honest truth.

So what's next? Reconcile myself to what I have to accept, begrudgingly, reluctantly, unfortunately. But at least then, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because then, the avalanche can be cleared, the road built, a car filled up with gas that can now go somewhere beyond Neverland.