My imaginary friend was a wolf, he came once or twice a year until I was about 5, usually when I was tucked up in bed. He looked real and he said he would always look after me, in my head of course; he didn't actually speak. I really missed him when he stopped coming. Now of course I am very fond of animals. I often wondered what he was and how he came because I didn't ask him to and how did I know about wolves at such a young age, we didn't have David Attenborough in those days. Fairy tales perhaps? My relatives were very indulgent; not one said to me he was a dream or I was being silly. I don't feel silly even now and speak about him openly when the subject crops up, but I'd still love to know how and why? I am glad he wasn't a tomato though!

At one time homosexuality was considered to be a sign of insanity.
Now having an imaginary friend has become .. normal.
A sign of our times there .. guys.
Acceptance of insanity is insane.

My imaginary friend was a 31-year old man. He was blond, blue-eyed, and left handed. I won't write his name here but it is fairly unusual and starts with an "S". I was a lonely little girl and S kept me company. The problem was, I never really grew out of him. I knew he wasn't "real", but I couldn't let go of him throughout my life. As I got older, I always expected to turn a corner or walk into a club and see him there -- in the flesh. I looked for him everywhere, telling myself at the same time that this could get me inshrinkerated.

I grew up, did college, did grad school, got married, got divorced. S was still there, periodically, sometimes more present than at other times. My first husband knew about him and accepted him as part of my life. When odd things would happen, like my ex's coffee cup suddenly sliding off a counter and smashing while he and I were having a fight, we would half-jokingly blame S.

My current husband also had an imaginary friend, a girl who grew up with him. He also went through a normal childhood, education, and starter marriage. (Yes, I do see the irony, but starter marriages are pretty much normal these days.)

I separated from my first husband on December 1, 2003. My current husband had recently divorced, and moved several thousand miles to my area on December 9.

We met in February of 2004. I was in a club that had often featured in my "meeting S" fantasies. He sat across the bar area. We kept trying not to stare at each other. My friend asked if I knew him, and I answered vaguely that he looked exactly like someone I knew a long time ago.

I looked like someone he knew too.

He's blond, blue-eyed, left-handed. We were both 31 when we met. His name is not "S_____", but that is the name he has used since he was kid as a pen name, or whenever naming yourself (such as in a game) is acceptable.

We talk about things that we remember doing together, before we met, and find affirmation of our history -- for instance, my recollection of a certain view that I had never seen, which was the view from his childhood bedroom window.

Call me crazy. In four years of marriage we have had maybe 3 five-minute arguments. Oh, sorry, one lasted close to half an hour. Still, the contrast to my previous marriage is astounding. We fit together like peas in a pod, and can't stand to be apart. We know each others' strengths and faults, likes and dislikes, as if we have been married for 25 years. We are best friends.

I never know how to answer the question of, "How did you meet your husband?" As I told a friend, the first time I saw him it was like looking up and seeing your best friend, whom you have not seen for 30 years. We just recognized each other.

Call me crazy -- in love. Which I guess is a state of crazy even in "normal" circumstances.