(This was written for the Lord Dragon many many years ago. Some elements here are still true, but age has rendered my self-awareness much more vivid, and I know I am real. I exist. But this was my life for years and years.)

I'm frustrated. I want to understand your philosophy. I want to see how it shapes you, your reactions; how to make sure I am a part of what you are. But your philosophy isn't ME. THIS IS ME (jump/run/climb a tree) and this is me (hang upside down and kiss you thoroughly) and this (pull up, drop from branch, roll, ouch) pain be damned. It's how I know I exist. Physicality. I'm frail, a wisp of nothing, fragile. I don't believe I exist.. I don't exist except in the eyes and minds and reflections.... and in the world of movement and feeling.

I crave attention, for then I know I exist. I am vain, looking into every mirror, becasue it proves I'm physically there. When someone loves me, I know I exist. I'm real. When I hurt - and I hate pain - I know I exist. I know I'm alive. When I am moving, I can forget having to prove I exist, for then I'm alive, I'm real, I am Myself. I'm no longer fragile or will 'o'the wisp or frail when I'm moving - dancing, blading, biking, walking, running, playing Kung Fu. I'm alive, I'm strong, I'm vigorous. The feeling of translating music to movement with my body, the awareness of motion, of rhythm, of sound and fury and joy within my body - I am REAL. When you make love to me, I am alive. I can feel you, sense you, taste you, and I know you acknowledge my existence. I thrill to be alive to the touch of you, the smell and taste of you, your sounds, your breath, your body.. they become the boundaries of my existence, the proof that I am real, not a dream.

Around my children, I'm not real. I'm someone called Mommy. Around my parents, I'm a Daughter, and not the one they wanted. Around certain people I just don't feel real. I don't exist for them, in my mind. When I'm alone, I can be at peace so long as I'm moving. When I stop, I doubt my existence. I doubt myself; I'm no longer real.

Why do you love me? I'm nothing but a fantasy, unreal, a dream that will dissipate with the cold light of morning - it sounds so insulting, as if you would accept a dream instead of a real person. But my reality is caught up in sensation, in physicality, in touch and motion. The perception always there, unshakeable, that this is all just a game, nothing matters, nothing is real. Sometimes I'm just an actor, playing a role whose purpose was forgotten a long time ago.

"And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'll understand/When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am..." Iris, GooGoo Dolls.