This blog post is a ten-minute timed writing exercise from writers.stackexchange.com.Visit the Writers chat room every Tuesday for new writing exercises.
There was no doubting that she was right and that was the real crux of the issue right there. She was so infinitely capable of holding conflicting viewpoints that she must have some kind of psychic yogi. Cognitive dissonance was painful for most, but not in her world, not in her existence, which kept her apart from us.
When I was twenty-seven, my own cognitive dissonance finally became unbearable. I opened my eyes then. I breathed in the world and let it wrap itself inside my brain, and lightness spread to the corners of my insides. I can’t imagine going back into that cave. I can’t unsee reality.
My doubt saved me. My disbelief saved me. These were the things — not the drugs, not the self-harm, not the constant effort to make reality conform — these were the things that saved me. It is obvious that I can’t control the world, and now I wonder why I ever thought it was possible. Or maybe more accurately, I wonder why I never doubted that the form of my existence was under my control.
She cannot see that. She still believes that everything obeys her thoughts. The world is magic to her and she is the magician, the one and only Real, the most important because there is nothing else but her.
I hate it. I wish I didn’t, but now I let myself feel what I feel because I know I can’t tell myself to feel it differently. Because my existence is like the beauty of a river flowing and not a painting in her hallway.