I have always lived inside my head. I built a box around my mind and sat inside of it, creepily staring out at people with a pair of super strength binoculars.
Occasionally I have attempted to step outside of myself. It is very refreshing on the outside. Life has potential and ambition. I find myself shedding feelings of doubt and fear.
Unfortunately, I also find myself deeply bored.
On the outside, the sun shines.
In my head, the sun rises over a man lying in a vacant field. He is just waking up with no memory as to how or when he got there nor how there came to be dried blood on his hands and clothes.
See what I did there?
I don’t know at what point I began use fiction like sponges for my own gain. I’ve been making up stories in my head since I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. Eventually, I think it was just a natural progression.
Whatever is going on in my life, I just attach those feelings to someone else so that I don’t have to feel them quite so much.
I’m suffering from a bad cold; cue fictional character in my head to have to sit through an important meeting as he sneezes and coughs, looking oh so silly.
I’m starting a new job in the morning; BAM! character has only moments to live if she doesn’t crack the code before the mysterious caller finishes breakfast.
I have very intense, over-dramatic feelings.
But you wouldn’t always know it because they only exist in my brain.
I use this method to make myself laugh and see how little I have to worry about. If things played out in the worst-case-scenario bit in real life then I know I can always put a character into a much worse situation and they will live through it.
I’m never alone.
I am aware of how crazy and creepy this makes me sound.
I am also aware of how this could backfire on me. Maybe I’m not able to cope. Maybe someday something truly terrible will happen and I will completely shut down and end up in an insane asylum shouting nonsense about peoples who never were.
At least I won’t be bored.
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