Because Reality isn’t Real I try to enjoy my delusions. Some say that depressed people are actually more realistic. I reckon that’s a bunch of tosh. Everybody is deluded in their own special way.
My deluded dream of reality changes shape depending on what stories I’m thinking of. Some stories are things I’ve been telling myself, or that others have told me, for many years, and some are brand new baby narratives. Some are cosy and warm, some are useful, some are destructive, some are fearful, and some are freaking hilarious.
I rely on intuition, emotion, empathy and logical thought processes to shape my actions. Logical thought processes are more likely to come to the same or similar conclusions when I’m assessing life, and making decisions. Telling myself stories based on these conclusions helps me make decisions better when I don’t have the time or energy to think something through.
I need to tell myself things over and over though. My intuition, based in thoughts, emotions and experiences, collects info more easily and quickly along paths that are well used. Some stories have built super highways in my mind, and some are still bumpy, rutted and dusty.
For now I’ve got a superhighways telling my intuition that dessert is one of the rich rewards for living a good life. I’ve also got a crooked dirt track telling me that sugar is a poisonous and addictive substance. Both have a place in my reality, but (the possibly deluded) superhighway gets to make most of my decisions.
Anybody else got mental roads that fork that way? (Mmmm, forks are good for chocolate cake. Just saying.)