My mother always told me growing up that I had an unusually large imagination. My dreams were always so vivid and I could recall each and every detail the next morning. “Such big dreams for a little girl,” she’d say. And I always took it as a compliment. I liked the way my mind worked. I liked my big imagination. A completely different world of colors and life to be explored—all I had to do was close my eyes.
Unfortunately though, no one ever told me the bad side of a big imagination. I had to learn the hard way. Some nights my dreams would ramble. They would grow dark and eery, full of scary faces and mysterious shadows. Often, inanimate object would blow up in my dreams, jolting me out of bed and onto the floor. And most unfortunately, I always had the scariest monsters in my closet and under my bed. I know this because I am still scared of them. I am still afraid of the dark.
My mother always joked that one day my husband would have to check the closet and under the bed for me like she always did. I never realized it was a joke. I always thought: Well yeah…duh.
Now a young woman standing on the edge of grad school and a professional career, I no longer see monsters just in the closet or the darkness of my room. When you grow up, you begin to see them in the daylight. You see your fears in their complete form. And they’re even more haunting than the monster hiding behind your clothes.
When you grow up, those creepy little monsters hide in unexciting letters better known as bills. One likes to hide in the hood of my car and make a terribly frightening noise when I crank the engine. And others disguise themselves as sweet boys only with the intention to break your heart.
You may call it life. I will call it my monsters. It’s just the way my imagination works, I suppose.
// from justbesplendid
// from solitarylife-deactivated2012011