There is so much about my life that I don’t like. I hate to admit it, but I never got over this. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been told multiple times that I’m fat, grungy, and “I’d be pretty if only–.” I hate it! I’ve been allowing the world to name me for years. When am I going to embrace the name that God wants to give me, that He has given me?
My imagination’s run rampant since childhood. I’ve never stopped playing pretend. But stories I come up with now stem from wants and desires of my life. I always have this one amazing heroine. Her life was probably difficult at one point, but at the setting of my story, life has come to fruition for her. She was beautiful, fit, strong, and about to meet her prince.
I always, always put myself in the feet of this character because her life is just so much more amazing than mine. Whether she’s the reluctant bodyguard of a mafia head, the quiet student, the abused piano player, or a twin of her favorite band’s lead male singer, she was living life in ways that I wanted to.
The crazy pasts I give her are probably things I’d like to skip over. What I was writing for her was what I wanted to live. I give her aspects and thought processes that I possess, and I give her talents and features that I long for.
In my mind, she is better than me. She is my ideal and what I want to be.
During free time in the day or even class, I’m usually found daydreaming of what I want to do with whatever story I’m concocting or physically writing it down. I’ve never finished a story on paper, though… it’s strange. I finish them in my head, but I never put it all down. I never have the patience to. I don’t think there’s anything psychological behind it. I just never physically finish them.
But I always seem to give happy endings. Probably because I feel so closely knit with this character. I’d thought of other possibilities, but I always, always settled for happy endings.
I’m not ready to give up this character yet. I know I should, and I know I should also get out of this world I created because it’s not reality. If I try to live in that one, I will never live in this one.
I’m a pretty crappy writer anyway. All of these stories play out as images in my head, like I’m watching a drama or a movie. So I try to describe things exactly as I’m picturing them, which makes it awkward. And I don’t give good descriptions at all. It’s mostly dialogue.
Anywhoo….. I’m going to dread the day I have to bring this up in counseling. I don’t even know when I start. I’ve called, but he keeps calling back when I’m in class or going to class. O.o ::sigh::