When I'm depressed I'm usually convinced that I used to live in a fantasy world, and that only in that imaginary space could I be myself.
Depression (or real life??) tells me that I'm suffering because I've now realised this. That I wasted my life dreaming and that the dream can never become real.

But maybe this is the only way (at least for me) to deal with life. Maybe the dream IS part of reality. Maybe it's okay to dream, maybe it's even unavoidable. Maybe dreaming is not rejecting life, but rejecting the dream means actually rejecting life.

Hmm...