Fantasy is Death

From the time I was 4 years old and realized that my parents were insane, I turned to Fantasy as an escape. Now that I am watching a dear friend being destroyed by fantasizing (it leaves no time for reality), I am forced to confront myself. I remember my first fantasy was Roy Rogers, as I had seen him on television. I was going to be rescued by the handsome cowboy. I never stopped after that. I daydreamed about Mike Nesmith of the Monkees and John Lennon of the Beatles. After that, I created fantasy heroes of my own and then, I started to meet real men, and after some upsetting experiences such as rape or heartache, I would retreat for hours into my own world. Fortunately, I was able to turn some of these into plays, but in the meantime, I was marrying the wrong men...sleeping with the wrong men...and worst of all, ignoring my education. After the breakup of my common law marriage to a total raving lunatic, and a string of hideous, inadequate and deceitful men, I stopped dating. After being diagnosed with MS, I started to save my money and get my life in order, but never the education. The education is my greatest regret. Recently, I have been dancing around the fantasy world and almost losing. I might have alienated a few friends and family, but my New Year's resolution is to simply stay grounded in reality. In New Jersey. In my poor, old, diseased body that is the only one I have. No one is going to ride in on a horse to rescue me. I guess, just like the modern cliche says, I have to be my own Prince Charming.