I’m sick of reality, it just makes me worse. So that’s why I write. Â I write to create my own worlds to which I can escape for a while. But… I’m running out of ideas, and my worlds are shrinking. One day, they’ll all be gone. One day, I won’t be able to escape. One day, I’ll become trapped in reality with no way to escape it. And I’m scared for when that day arrives.
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I write a lot of fantasy/fiction in my spare time. Most of it is crap and never sees the light of day, but it’s a good way to feel like you have some modicum of control over something. Sometimes, you can take a vacation from that and submerge yourself into reality the same way, but it’s like a kind of curiosity. You have to look at it more as something you’re learning rather than something you’re doing to escape something else. Anything you write comes from your experience in reality, so learning to experience reality in different ways can only help you find new ideas to write about.
What kind of stuff do you write, btw?
I am trapped in reality but I still dream of other worlds. When I go to sleep at night I get these outrageous dreams, there I am…it’s me….oh god and I am healthy and I am doing stuff. I actually always end up kicking a$$ in my dreams, fighting evil guys and loving it lol. There is a life inside this rotting disabled livening breathing mass of tissue that I am, a life that can not live because of its being trapped away in this horrible shell of a body, a life that is so fierce and exciting. Or I dream about myself going to school, something I didn’t ever get the chance to do. Sometimes the imaginings of the mind are the only place we have to be free and to exist. So I hold onto dreams because other than dreams all that’s left is an unbearable, unthinkable reality.
I mostly write poems and short stories, occasionally I start a song which ends after a couple verses ha. Also I’ve been writing this story for over 8 months now [ and it’s still not that long, just over 40,000 words? ] But, this one’s almost finished, and I have no other ideas for what else I can write.
I wrote this short story a couple months ago, and my mum read it. She thought it was good and asked where I thought of such details for it [ it was gruesome :3 ] I just shrugged my shoulders. When in reality, they’re the kind of things that have nested in my brain. So, where I’m escaping reality with my writing, I never escape my thoughts.