Dear Diary and Friday, April 10th, 2015
Firsty, this is the only time I will actually write the words, "Dear Diary" in this journal. Those words seem awkward to write, especially since I know there isn't actually a person I'm writing to. It's a little like talking to myself, but with the pretense of talking to someone else.
Anyway, it's too strange, even for me. So, no more "Dear Diary" entries for me, thank you very much.
Second, well, I’m writing this because my mind is... special to put it nicely, and I want someone to know to see what is or what was if the case may be, was happening to me. I see dreams and things that I know that aren’t real but I can’t help but see them in reality….
It’s hard to explain. Impossible really, but I want to try my best. It's best explained if I show you.
This is a diary, journal, or observations I've made in my junior year of high school, or at least, the ending of the year. I’ve tried to ignore my weird mind until now, but certain… incidents have made me realize that I can’t anymore.
I don’t want to be insane… but if I am…well, you’ll see and decide for yourself.
Friday, April 10th, 2015
It was 2th period Chemistry when I felt it. I know it wasn’t real, but the illusion made perfect sense. My teacher, who had been berating the class for cheating (or at least one of us was cheating. I always disliked that immature boy in the back of the classroom), looked to be fading around me. Her motherly frame and her loud almost shrill voice was only a distraction within the spectrum of fantasy.
I stared at my fingers. For an instant, there were sparks coming from my fingertips. These sparks danced around my hand, around the room and swirled around my peers. Well, they were my peers. At the moment, I think I was a wizard (or witch to be technical). These people had no access to the dimension I lived in, nor will or would they ever.
Insanity was lonely at the best of times, I suppose.
These little sparks danced more a few moments in awe and wonder of the normalcy, or irregularity from the lack of anything extraordinary. They flurried around the familiar shadows of people I once knew, pecking at the low riding fabrics, the too bright sparkling of fake plastic gems on shirts and jeans, and flew through purposeful rips in jeans that made no practical sense in self-defense.
The sparks’ actions brought a smile to my face, if a small quirking of lips could be counted as one. My little familiars were entertaining themselves in this over wise dull world, and in turn entertaining me.
Suddenly, as if called my their true master, the tiny yellow specks of lightning swept back to my fingers in flurry and the room turned back into its normal off-white, desk-filled self.
“Luna?” The illusion had broken then and I blinked at the concerned, yet stern face of my Chemistry teacher. My mind had to process the abrupt shift in worlds… mentalities? Realities?
I never wanted to be caught in it. Honestly, it’s true! Yet when this overwhelming feeling of unreality bore into me, I felt my soul ache to return to that land where the impossible was simply an everyday occurrence. Why did I have to fight it every day? Was this insanity or simply my home worlds calling to me to return?
“Sorry Ms. Palm,” Half-hearted smiles and white lies for a genuinely nice woman. She hadn’t deserved my fakeness, but what was a person (or thing) like me to do? “I…uhh.. was just daydreaming.. I guess.”
I gave the woman a tired smile with worn eyes that belonged to the juniors and seniors of my school. The real realities (or not so real. I haven’t decided yet) of AP exams, SATs, ACTs, and so and so forth kept our kind from sleeping. I was used to it by now, I suppose, but I still don’t appreciate the lack of time for dreams. Night was the only time I could truly dream with my eyes open or closed.
The woman seemed to accept my answer (with a frown of course. A student should listen when a teacher speaks!) and continued her lecture from there.
It’s funny, thinking back on these moments. I’m afraid of this spurts of unrealness. I’m afraid that they are real, yet afraid that they aren’t. If it’s only my mind playing tricks on me then I know that I’m insane and can treat it. Find someone to help me, I suppose.
However, if they are real then… what am I? Am I human, a spirit, or something else that was reborn into this mundane world? Is this some kind of punishment I did in a previous life to experience these strange forms of beyond reality as a taste of something wonderful yet can never be?
I fear it. I know I do, but I can’t help but feel elated when these moments happen.
I think that’s what scares me the most.
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