My fictional happiness mixes with the chaos of life

Once Upon A Time
The beginning of a story

How fairy tales gave me false hope? Fairy tales where happily ever after is a common denominator and achieving everything you have dreamed is almost certain. Bedtime stories have always resulted in the same thing, the complete and utter moment of success within a matter of stories. Throughout the book (any good bedtime stories) that never reflects life in the fact we always follow a character who stars with the scene, the problem and ALWAYS result in a successful ending, an overcoming of an issue that five seconds they thought was mind-numbingly life-ending. They have altered the way I see, how I have moved forward with the way I dream my life to be. Although bedtime stories have not been at the forefront of my life, books have always been an obsession. Proven by my impulse purchasing of 24 hardback book club books while visiting my partner on the train and the stacked to overloading bookshelf I have in my room. I have fallen wholeheartedly in love with words on pages, how words can create a world that has such an impact on you, gives you love, sadness and joy in the matter of four different pages. I can honestly say that the first love of my life was a fictional character and I have no embarrassment in being able to admit that. I have been promising myself that I will eventually write my own world that can help escape from basically the shitness of the society we live in but I seem to slip with the imagination part and slowly fall into the darkness, the scary and depressive type of world where its no longer an escape which is why I overflow into blogging.

So why have fairy tales changed my thoughts? Fairy tales are created on happy endings, uplifting stories and romance in the most stereotypical way. I have fed myself the achievement that this is only way to feel the warm feeling of happiness, a feeling we all love so dearly. Stuck on the belief that happily ever after is not just possible but the only way to carry yourself. Don’t get me wrong I know for sure, I was never one to fall for Prince Charming or would ever be in the category of a Princess and if I was I’d be most certainly Merida, one that steps away from authority and dreams of choosing their own way with no actual understanding of what they want. But my younger more led self (approximately 2 hours younger self) was heart stuck on the fact I have to find this kind of ‘perfection’ to ever reach happiness whatever that feels like. Stories are escapism for the natural world, a place to adventure into a wonderland, fly a broom stick or fall madly in love with a prince that was once a frog. A world to enjoy and avoid real life, avoid the pain society brings. The stresses from work, love and dreams. To find something we are missing.

But what if you take the fiction land into our society? You drag the balls, the hero and the happily ever after in to the reality of Sheffield, 9-5 and compare the two in a hopeless fight of attraction. I’m not sure what ‘happiness’ is at the best of times never mind when compared to the sunshine that authors create so smoothly.  I have taken the whole ‘happily ever after’ a little too seriously, pursuing it with every breath of my body and not settling with anything remotely less. Beating myself entirely that I have not ‘made’ it yet, after twenty-two years. Whatever making it means. The bullying sarga continues as lockdown loams on, with no magically crafting genius falling out of me or endless blogs spouting into motivation and keeping my gym in keen spec when really I have lost every inch I put on over 6 months at the gym in 8 weeks of being at home.  Every aspect of my life I want to create into a fairy tale, to me fairy tale is plain and simply perfection, I am stuck on getting a carriage with a ball in a dress with a man that treats me with nothing but respect. I am dreaming that a relationship is anything like this, anything but two people working at it because they both care insanely. I have confused the reality of happiness with fictional happiness, which mixes so effortlessly into a sudden snap of confusion when my depressive episodes hit their peak.

So Thank you Fairy Tales, you have given me the strive for perfection. The admiration to search for something more even if it is impossible. To love and hope that Prince’s and Princess’ are in fact just us all, that fighting and crying are allowed in this world. You have helped me realise that no matter how much I want my life to be perfection, how much I dream of continuous happiness with no arguments or stresses and that life will be easy. I know if it did, it would be nothing but the same, I would hunt for more every time and escapism wouldn’t exist. I have to give myself a break and understand that its okay to fight and cry, that its okay to be a little blue not floating on yellow brightness all the time.

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