Day 406
One of the presumptions of my life, which I am both blessed and conflicted to be free of, is the idea that I was just like other guys, and I hoped that even women had the same erotic thoughts and fantasies that fed my constant sexualization of everything.
I am now blessed to know that I do not live in a real world like that, but I am conflicted about what that says about the depths of my illness. Too much of what I would choose to read for recreation in my life reinforced this view. Certainly, the visuals such as TV and movies with which I surrounded myself — not even counting the porn — said I was normal.
Somehow, none of these alternate-life fantasies overtly entered into my other world where I would write the non-existent into a new reality. I was often drawn to my fictional characters as being more of the person I wanted the world to welcome than the person I was afraid they would see. They were all flawed, often tremendously, but never in the world of my darkness. I want to think that even that was an effort to escape my escapism, but I don't know that.
I set aside all my creative writing when I began acting out, and I am intrigued at where some of these unfinished 'friends' of my tomes-in-progress will go when I get back to the task of helping them through their imperfections and offering them redemption. As I've thought about this, the possibilities are more hopeful, as well as filled with deeper darkness. I've experienced new levels of both that I want and need to exercise through the spiritual journaling of creating new people and new stories.
–JR
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