Real

What is real? Is it something you can see? Something you can touch, smell, taste, hear? Perhaps this is the case, if you are convinced that what you have seen and heard is all that it is possible to experience.

I remember being secure in the world. I remember trusting my eyes, and believing what I saw. I fit perfectly into the life that had been laid out before me: I was a successful athlete, I studied hard and got good grades, and I set high standards for myself. I was just the type of kid any parent would want. My parents couldn't have been prouder.

Then I took a look around me.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Everything looked so intentional, and so fake. For the first time, instead of looking at my surroundings, I saw them. I saw everything, and I was troubled to note that I'd never noticed them before, because it made me wonder what else I hadn't noticed. When I sat down to try to fit this knowledge into my previous perception of the world, I was unsettled to find that this discovery blatantly contradicted everything I thought I had known. I quickly came to the realization that I had no reason to believe anything, because I had no proof that anything was real. Soon after that, I became immersed in my dreams, having found that they could be real just as easily as anything else. I drifted back and forth between my dreams and my waking life in a daze. The differentiation between the dream world and this supposed "reality" blurred, and I wandered aimlessly between the two with no distinction as to which was which, searching for some meaning, some reason for existence, something that would make any of this worthwhile.

Everyone noticed a change. It seemed that I had just stopped caring about anything at all. They knew something was different, but even when anyone could keep my attention long enough to ask what was wrong, all they got out of me was a vague, bitter reply: "You're part of it. Everyone's part of it. I'm.... part.....?" before I fell back into the tangled mess of thoughts that had become my obsession. My parents were devastated at the loss of their perfect child -- What was to become of her now? They attempted to pull me out of it as best they knew how, but were helpless to even reach me, as I saw nothing in them that seemed real to me either.

Eventually I came to accept that there is no constant truth, and that I must find my own truth, and discover what's real to me. I had made my first step towards recovering myself, even though I still felt as helpless as ever. Even with this discovery, though, I remained in this pit, drowning in the knowledge of my own stupidity. I was so blinded by my confusion that I would have never been able to find any meaning for myself, which is why I'm eternally grateful that he found me instead.

His hand reached out to me, and for the first time, I was able to see it through the confusion... he existed to me. I took his hand, accepting his help, and to my astonishment, the mess of thoughts around me began to disintegrate, revealing all of him. I could see his face, I could touch his skin, and I could hear his voice. But when he took me in his arms, not only could I see and touch and hear -- I could feel. I felt his comfort, like a warm blanket enveloping me. I felt his gentle concern sweep over every inch of me. I felt his love. And it was real.