In my head

In my head, I can be whoever I want.

In my head, I’m Julia Roberts. I flip my shiny hair a lot; I giggle and grin; I have an awkward, but lovable face. I say wildly innappropriate things and laugh like a hyena on crack. Everyone loves me, even when I don’t love myself.

I bounce when excited; I laugh and cry in equal measure; I can have Richard Gere or Ed Harris or George Clooney if I want; I have my heart broken, but I come out stronger. I can perform a wide variety of professional tasks, from the mundane to the elaborate, and it matters not which I choose to do on any given day of the week.

I have wild, uninhibited sex. Sex that moves the earth, that shakes my very being to the core, that breaks laws of physics and morality, and no one thinks any the less of me for it. Every kiss is like my very first. I wear Alexander McQueen and carry a Chanel handbag and say things like “Oh, this old thing? It was just lying at the bottom of my closet.” I stay up late, and I wake up early.

I dance as though no one is watching, even though everyone is watching.

In my head, I do whatever I want. I’m the person I was before I was sick. I fulfill all my dreams, my expectations are met, I am wholly, entirely, unequivocally me. Not ME. Just me. I try not to spend too much time in my head. My mother says that hope is devastating, because you’re always disappointed. But without my hope, I am nothing. In my dreams, I’m everything.

In my head, I am everything I always was and always wanted to be.

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~ by surprisingme on March 19, 2010.

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