A ramble of proportions unparalleled

There are so many questions that seem to get lost in the not asking.
So many thoughts that are fragmented in the not thinking.

I fear of late that it is change that scares me the most. The reason why this notion is terrifying is because I have, for quite long, held myself together by the delusion that I embrace change better than most. Being on of those - a child of circumstance and crass corruption - it is infernally hard for me to accept that I may not actually 'be' who I am in my head. I have yet to figure out which version of self is less preferable. However, circumstances are forcing me to make the choice and deal with my manifold delusions. I am free inside my head. I am anything but outside of it. My cerebellum flower child spirit comes from within, so does my noxious need for approval. Needless to say it is not a pretty struggle.

Telling onesself that one is self-sufficient, solitary, silly and sassy at the same time does not make it so. It appears that we cannot, in fact and fiction, have our cakes and eat them too. What a ginormous fall from grandeur. I am not claiming in any way that I have reconciled myself to reality: that would be too big a betrayal of the seven year old girl who first locked her door to read Dahl's Matilda amid screams of scorn.
I have seen reality.
I have known it.

My delusions are not subterfuge, they are self effacing and well contrived to keep my rose-tinted spectacles intact and glossy. I believe very much in the notion that fiction only trumps fact when one accepts that it is fiction and would much rather live with the story than the truth. It is only worth savouring when we recognise it as it is. "I know that this is not the real world. I have chosen otherwise." It is the poor sods who believe the fiction to be fact that are destined to be hit over the head with it time and again.
If we are all damned anyway, what does it matter how it comes about.
Or does it?
Is that all that matters?

Many a great man (implying that there have been many great men) has said that our lives are shaped by the choices we make. Even if all the choices lead to the same conclusion and take off from the same pick-up point...it is the 'in-betweens' that gear our gait. If that truly is the case, then all that matters 'ought' to be following ones' dreams, making ones' mistakes and sucking the proverbial marrow out of life.
A dreamers recurse if there ever was one.