Until my mental breakdown, I lived the majority of my life in my daydreams. Everyday life was something I vaguely partook in, just enough to get by, but my heart was wrapped up in my imagination. I would take the long route home on the bus or by foot, so that I had enough time for my brain to explore. I would seek out the most stress free jobs, so there weren't any emotions competing for head space. This was working out just fine for me until one day, fear appeared, uninvited. Fear exists entirely in our imagination. So when it quite rudely showed up and started calling the shots, there wasn’t any room left for much else. I found myself having to fill pockets of time with activities, and was no longer content in my own head. As time’s gone by and I’ve built up strategies to keep fear at bay, I can frequent my sacred brain-land once again, but it’s never really been the same. I can’t draw on it with the same intensity. It’s something I was so worried about in my early 20’s, losing my precious imagination. I even wrote my dissertation at university on the power of the imagination. But, somewhat ironically, feeding and nurturing that power is what probably led to my mental deterioration. The fire that gave life to my creative thoughts was the same fire that helped to extinguish them.