I believe in make-believe. It is the fantasy world that only your imagination can treasure. It is the hope beyond all worldly things. It is the passage into the belief that the impossible is actually a possibility.
My imagination has taken me to places unlike any other. When I was a little girl, I would lock myself in my bedroom, sit down on the floor, and surround myself with piles of Barbie dolls. Each doll I picked up had its own name, its own outfit, and its own story. My Barbies were the cast, I was the director, and my imagination was the screenplay.
In a concrete world of many facts and not enough fiction, my personal life of make-believe was an escape from reality. I never had any siblings, yet I never felt alone. If I surrounded myself with an illusory world of passion, relationships, and drama, then my own life was actually living and experiencing such fantastic emotion.
Creativity was in my nature. I was born with a behavioral impairment called Attention Deficit Disorder. My childhood was spent day-dreaming instead of focusing on reality. It was difficult to concentrate on the task at hand while in my mind, there were endless possibilities far more intriguing.
I was very much alive and participatory in my imagination. I gave life to characters that had already experienced death. I played any role my heart desired. I was in control of everything around me. In a way, I worked through my loneliness and fears by creating relationships and conflicts. It was my own form of therapy. It was the chicken soup for my soul.
While most children grew out of the “Barbie phase”, I struggled to let it go. It wasn’t that I was behind the other kids developmentally. Actually, despite my neurobehavioral disorder, in many ways, I was much more mature than the norm. Yet, the attachment to my Barbies made me feel like a baby, too young to understand reality.
I was ashamed of my world of make-believe. When other girls came over, we would play with makeup instead of with Barbies. At least with makeup, we could see the tangible illustration we were painting. Then, as soon as I was alone again, I would illustrate a new setting for my Barbies to live in. The seemingly impossible appeared to be a much clearer possibility in my mind. Even though I couldn’t see it with my eyes, I knew deep within myself that my fantasies were true.
Just as each Barbie had blonde hair I could see, she had a distinct voice I could hear, and a unique soul I could feel. In my own foggy mind, thoughts were vague and hazy. In my imagination, life was vivid and real. My imagination gave me a clear sense of the world around me, the possibilities ahead of me, and the beliefs inside of me. This I believe—the impossible can always be a possibility.
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