@NightFury @avant-garde @Penguincat @Jynx @AuntGlow @AlwaysMyself @tyme @Shaz51
Here is my response to the prompt:
I remember a life that I am told I never led. I remember dancing barefoot to drums, I remember swimming in a lake under a glowing moon, I remember laughter and being held in warmth. But they tell me that none of this was real. They tell me that I have lived all my life behind these walls, that nothing else has ever happened to me. They tell me these are all just dreams. But it all feels so real to me.
I am told I have a sickness that makes me believe in my dreams. I am told I was born this way; I bore the mark of insanity at my birth. I am told I can never trust anything I think, I must depend on the staff here to tell me what is real. I am told there are no drums and no lakes. These are all things that exist only in the insanity of my mind.
I am told to believe in a world of misery. I am told that these walls, these pills and these conversations are all that is real. This is a world where I am only a number, a mistake, fit for nothing but supervision and sedation. And this world feels very real too.
But what if both are real? How can everything that brings me joy be nothing but insanity? And even if this is insanity, why is that such a bad thing? My madness is all that makes life worthwhile. The things I remember are all that gets me through each day. Staring at a wall, waiting for meals and medication, every single day. That cannot be all that there is supposed to be to my life. Even if it is all just a dream, I need to keep on dreaming.
