I can feel it happening again.
It's been a while...
Of all the worlds - I've lost count - that have truly captured my soul, only two stand above the rest.
One is a world of masks, the other is a world of monsters.
The rest, whether created by others or myself, fulfill a similar role.
They make me feel like I matter.
I want to matter.
I want to be important, noticed, loved, defended.
I want to act, protect, be decisive and determined.
These worlds give a taste of what it is like to feel that way.
But it's a lie.
I end up caring about people that aren't real.
Make choices that have no consequences.
Love and hate inspired by ideas of no substance.
So when it's all over, when I close the book, turn off the screen, lay down the pen...
I'm left empty. Alone. Meaningless.
I'm living in the void of imagination. All I can imagine is making my own worlds for others to become trapped inside, as I am, continually.
None of it real. None of it worth anything.
Leaving me hollow.
Stories are going to be the death of me.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (7 so far!)
Interesting. I get it but I also see stories as the life of me.
- #2742 Posted 2 years ago
Sounds like the beginning of a cycle of depression. Sometimes the little things we do that look worthless stack up later into something worth more. All stories are just words strung together. If you keep putting words together, you might end up with a masterpiece.
- #2743 Posted 2 years ago
I see where you're coming from. And the thoughts are really well put. But I have a different view of the imaginary worlds.
There is a quote from the Wheel of Time, where a wolf says:
"All is real. What is seen and what is not seen."
I like to think that imaginary worlds, just as all of our thoughts, dreams, abstract concepts, feelings and fears and emotional connections to imaginary characters, all of these things are a part of (a) reality. By dismissing them as "not real", we're doing a disservice to ourselves. I think most of this dismissal comes from the way we've learned to put boundaries on our concept of reality just to make it easier to grasp. Reality is way too big for us to grasp. So we draw a line at the edge of the physical world, choosing to dismiss everything beyond as not real. Well they aren't physically real, for sure. But they surely have profound effects on us, they change us as people, help us grow, or better understand ourselves.
- #2747 Posted 2 years ago
I think our ability to care about people who aren't real is to be cherished. After all, it doesn't mean we have to care less about real people, does it?
Also, if a story is shared, even with just a few, does it not become something more?
Sorry for the long rant
- #2748 Posted 2 years ago
Nuclear, you are so right. Rant on!
- #2756 Posted 2 years ago
I have the same problem when my depression starts to settle in. Storytelling stops feeling important. It feels like a waste of time, meaningless in the long-run. Some part of me knows that stories are important and can be life-changing, but it's hard to convince myself of that in the moment when I'm feeling blue and low. I empathize with where you're at, Jae. You know my inbox is always open if you need someone to talk to. :)
- #2763 Posted 2 years ago
Nuclear has an interesting and positive point. Being an escapist from reality can be a dangerous place but it can also be a refuge to figuring out life's struggles. Writing about a character with similarities to what you are going through, then helping that character work through it can be, if you will, therapeutic in a way. If you can, but for a brief moment, separate yourself from the character. Then later reflect or maybe realize then what you need to do.
My inbox Is here for you as well Jae. I can relate
- #2771 Posted 2 years ago
- Published 2 years ago and featured 2 years ago.
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