"The Net Effect" an excerpt
	Investing time and emotion in a fantasy, whether it is created by you or for you, can be costly. I work diligently not to create a fantasy world for myself, unfortunately I find myself easily drawn into the fantasies created for me by others. That simple child in me trusts that all around her speak their truth. Perhaps she/I need to. I decided long ago to give people the benefit of the doubt when it comes to their honesty. To not do so, would leave me trapped in the old tapes that play in the back of my mind. You know the ones ... "Trust no-one. They only want to bring you harm. To use you for their own warped and perverted gain. Keep your distance. And never let them see you cry." I chose to not live my life by that creed. I know in reality that it would be less painful if I did keep my distance, if I did consider everyone as a threat to my personal sanity. But I refused to. It's not I that has a hidden agenda. It's not I that needs to control or manipulate others. So why should I become like they? So distrusting as to create lies to hide who I really am? I know I hold my own responsibility in the fantasies created  for me by others. Probably because I want so desperately to believe that I am wanted, loved, cared for, that I am worthy of such feeling, emotion. It's only when I take a step back that I am able to see a bit more clearly. Able to see that what covenant I have been given is not a covenant at all, but someone's cast off verbiage. Verbiage that they have perfected over time at the expense of other's like me who want only to believe, nay, need to believe. It smacks me full force in the face. And yet, it's always like a horrible surprise when I realize that once again, I was lied to and deceived. You would think that after all this time, I would be able to see the lies. Feel them forming around me, feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck and heed the warning signs. But I don't. So now for now ... I'll gather my toys, my sweet words of prose and honor and go back to being guarded. Safely cloistered in my own world where no-one can touch me, and no-one dare deceive me. How tiring this life is ... to have to live as I must. Separate and away. Held tight in the seclusion of my own fear, where no-one can hurt me ... Until the next time. Yes, there will be a next time. And a next, and a next. I know no other way to be and to be any other way, would not be true to myself. Perhaps one day I will give up this silly notion that anyone can love me as much as I can love myself. Until that day I will live in this Peter Pan world, whispering, "I believe, I believe."