Fantasy

I find that, if I try to write fantasy, I have a very strong tendency to become whatever that fantasy is, in a miniature psychosis of my own, which becomes difficult for me to counter, once I’m well into the storyline, itself. I think such a thing happened to me last evening, when I was in the process of writing a story, and in the process of writing a story, and writing to a friend at the same time.

On time one of my old friends did her level best to encourage me to write fiction, back when she was coaching my writing, but fiction seems to give me some of the same problems fantasy does. I’d go right on into the storyline itself, as though I’m stepping out of time, and reality can be damned. This is more dangerous to me than it would be for anyone around me.

I might end up living inside of my own story, as if it were a separate reality, when the story line might have no semblance of reality to it whatsoever. This may very well be a creative closet, where unreality is served on a platter, with alacrity. In fact, one may very well envy a frame of mind like the one I suggest, if it did not have the ramifications of a psychosis attached to it.

There are things I do that don’t make much sense later, like how on earth I thought I was invited to take a trip to Wyoming escapes me utterly. It’s a wonderful fantasy, to think I could go halfway across the country, to see a friend I know only online. Sure. Everyday. Not very practical, though. Besides, the presumption that I talked like this online is down-right humiliating!

How my friend could have stood it, I have no idea. In fact, I was talking to a lot of writers, who might have understood my insanity exactly, but who’s to say? The young lady in question seemed to handle the situation, almost as if it weren’t happening. We had a conversation back and forth for quite some time, and she didn’t seem even phased that I was presuming an invitation that had not been offered.

She must have wondered what I was thinking. To answer the question which has not been posed, I was not thinking. I was writing, creating a story. I was only writing an elaborate fantasy I was presenting to myself, while I wrote to her. It had little to do with what’s real anywhere, as I wrote with a certain amount of madness. I’ll admit I was doing a lot more with my story than I was with reality.

Psychosis is the persistence of an all-pervasive unreality in the mind of a patient. It is a clinical condition which sometimes gives one enough of a difficulty, one might find it necessary to go to a psychiatric hospital forthwith, in order to make an adjustment in medications, with the object of putting an end to one’s perception of the unreality in question.

When one is singled out for inpatient psychiatric treatment, one finds it necessary to focus entirely on the environment one finds himself in, clinically. This environment can decay without notice, according to the wishes, and whims, of the staff on duty at the madhouse. One is put into a position to have to reconstruct reality, as the doctor does his part with adjusting the person’s medications.

One is never quite certain how to get an entire set of reality contacts on the ward, nor that he is necessarily in a state of psychosis in the first place. It is literally simple to have a person, who suffers from a psychiatric diagnosis, who might have a confusion at the moment. That confusion can precipitate several weeks in a laughing academy, where otherwise he’d go home.

This is making the assumption that a clinical condition exists in the first place. I write stories and articles all the time, but the idea that my writing is, of necessity, in a state of pathology, borders on the absurd. I utilize the fullest extent of my imagination all the time, and do it safely. In fact, when I was an inpatient with severe mania, one of the few things I did which grounded me utterly, was to write.

When that happens next is that one is presented an entire ward of the most impossible people to have to get along with. Plus, it would frequently be at least a one month commitment, and could be even longer, all things considered. The time commitment of an inpatient is utterly out of the control of the patient’s input, even though that time period reflects on the inpatient directly.

Also, when the perspective patient considers the mixture of whomever might be on the ward, as well as the time commitment, of our perspective psychotic patient, is entirely out of his control. When the patient considers the ramifications of what it means to submit himself to another hospitalization, because he’s had a stimulating writing session, it is not an attractive scenario.

To submit to going into another madhouse, on those terms, seems more like an imposition than anything positive. Besides that, one must leave their home for the entire length of the hospital stay. To take on it, when one is considering a little bit of temporary psychosis, why bother? It would be time better spent, to go see the doctor, if the doctor doesn’t pack one off to bedlam.

Some people consider a state of psychosis to be a dangerous state of mind, for those around the psychotic patient himself, but I continue to maintain a history of harmlessness, in all states of being, as in any state. In fact, personally, I have a considerable history of remaining harmless altogether, regardless of everything around me and within me.

The idea that I’m about to go gallivanting off anywhere, to see or do anything, is a more remote concept for me than ever before.I find myself more of a homebody than ever before in my lifetime. I can’t even see how I’d ever get myself a driver’s license, it’s a mind boggle concept that not even I can deal with. The idea that I might literally drive or fly to anyplace is a pipe-dream, from my point of view.

I find myself indulging in my pipe-dreams from time to time, as I sit in my suite writing to be writing. Who needs an invitation, to consider the various flights of fancy that my mind goes through? To mend fences is something I’ll have to take up later. I happen to be writing my drivel now. One would wonder, after all this, whether I can hold it together, but please, don’t concern yourself.

In fact, I’ve been holding myself together for a long time. There are many things I can consider when I write, and keep my thoughts together at the same time. One can only wonder why I’d go psychotic enough to be hospitalized at one point, and manage to pull it together, another. I’ve often considered this point myself, and know very well that it takes a doctor to diagnose the issue.

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About geostan51

I'm a wordsmith and a craftsman. I've been known to hand crochet just about anything escept granny squares. I've got about twenty titles in my name on the Kindle Store at Amazon.com.
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