What exactly happens to our brains that makes us lose our imagination and wonderment? When we’re children, we can play make believe all day, live in pretend lands and be so much more open and perceptive to ideas. So what exactly is it that kills that? And don’t be a smartass and say “age” or some stupid bullshit, because I guarantee it’s not that. There’s plenty of adults who are still imaginative and such, so it’s definitely not getting older that does it. Personally, I think it’s other people that does it. Others start to make fun of you or say you’re being childish (what? a child being childish?! oh no!) and so you start to adhere to what “growing up” means, leaving behind all the things that brought you joy, happiness and comfort.
I think of all the deaths you have to endure in life, the worst has to be your own childhoods.
The death of your adolescence is weird because it isn’t one that you actively recognize is happening. One day you just sort of stop doing the things you’ve always loved doing. I remember when I was a little girl I’d play with my toys in my room or the backyard, making entire stories and plotlines that carried through day after day, and then one day I decided, because someone told me I was getting too old to be doing so, that I wasn’t going to do it that day. That one day became another day, and another day, and another day and so on and so forth until soon I hadn’t touched my toys in ages. Thankfully, being the anal retentive weirdo I am, I did go back and finish the “story” that had played out over the years for my own closure, but after that…never again. The thing that made me happy, the things that kept me company, I just tossed aside like they’d never given me anything at all, all because someone told me I was getting “too old”. I was 11.
I think that’s why I became a writer, more than anything else, is because I still get to play with characters and story, just in a “mature, adult” way. Bullshit. The thing is, because I was no longer allowed to play pretend, I turned myself into a character, and did horrible things to myself on purpose for the guise of being interesting, and viewed the abuse and trauma I went through as my “prologue”. I was a very sick child, who’s become a slightly less sick adult, and all because I was told to stop expressing myself at a certain age, because society thinks it’s “weird”. Because of this, I no have no idea what I am, or didn’t for the longest time. Only in the last few years have I started to even try and decide who I am, and think of myself more as an actual person and not just a character in a very depressing soap opera. We need to start letting kids stay creative and imaginative and stop squashing their open minds. We need to stop turning happy kids into unhappy adults.
When I was a little girl, I didn’t have an imaginary friend. A lot of kids did, but I never did. The reason is because I couldn’t have real friends, so why would an imaginary one want to be my friend?
I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!