I never had an imaginary playmate, or even a beloved teddy bear or other creature that I confided in. Reality was real enough, but I made no attempt to escape it by slipping into another world where my fears and doubts could be soothed.
Until now. I'm remembering what one of my favorite TV personalities confided one time in an interview: George Goebel said he drank before every performance because he "couldn't go out there alone." It's too hard being in a space by yourself.
I don't drink and don't want to, but have found myself confronting sort of a fractal identity. It may be true that fractals cast no shadows, but the endless feedback loops serve a real purpose. What we call imagination loops away to enter the consciousness of another identity before it circles back. I suspect that the consciousness entered is another version of myself: the aura has the quality of compassion and understanding too complete to emanate from elsewhere.
Psychiatrists may qualify such as the hallmark of a borderline personality but the concept of "I don't exist" occurs only in the space between. The space that offers no answers, only the consolation of understanding.
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