Illusions

Last week I wrote a poem inspired by past illusions.

I'd been thinking about the years I lived in a two-room apartment next to the freeway. I survived by pretending that the ever-present roar was the sound of the ocean. It was a difficult time and I pretended many things; yet each pretense helped me to survive. (And indeed, I got something out of it, my poem, "Exit Sixty-Eight." I'm not posting it right now, but if you're really hankering to read something of mine, visit any link in the right-hand margin.)

When, in your life, did you hold to an illusion in order to survive? How do you see the truth of it now, looking back? If you could, would you go back in time and change the way you perceived things? Write about illusions.