When I was a little girl, I had a wild imagination. In the shower there were always dolphins swimming around me, while riding a bike I had wings, at school everyone was an actor. Then one day, my skull cracked, half of my face tore, and I lost my soul. On the outside I acted as if everything was fine, but inside that little girl was curled up in a dark corner of a very big, cold room. That’s when it happened – Imagination and curiosity somehow turned into fear and anxiety. Protect the little girl, at all costs! Nothing can ever hurt her again because no one can find the corner of the very big cold dark room, no one can every see her, she will NOT be exposed and ridiculed! If I could just shut off everything that was reminiscent of the girl before the trauma.
I have been trying to wrap my mind around why and when exactly this shift occurred. When did having an imagination become a ‘bad’ thing? I used to have these vivid dreams in which things happened exactly as I wanted them to occur and in the order I wanted them to occur and everything was perfect. Everything was perfect.
CONFESSIONS OF A SUPERNOVA 