lives

When I write, many times I am chronicling the things that I wished I'd said, or the feelings I wished I'd expressed.

I guess I use it as a valve for the emotions I repress in my waking life.

If I am angry, I write it out. If I am jealous, I write it out. If I am in love, I write it out.

Why can't I just feel it out? It would be easier, right?

I feel like I live in three worlds: the real world (waking life), the dream world (sleeping life), and the world I have created through my writing (fantasy life).

Who knows which of these worlds is the one that contains the most truth? We assume that our waking lives are the true existences, but who's to say that they are?

The waking world did a number on me. It caused me to retreat into a shell that I created out of my own adolescent pain and angst, and even though I'm all grown-up and can manage my life without anyone's help, I am still stuck inside that shell, that hiding place where I used to go when things were bombarding me on the surface and I couldn't deal...

I am afraid to grow out of that shell because I fear that I will not have the same passion or fire to write.

I don't care if I am ever published or recognized as a writer... then why am I writing?

It's a coping mechanism.

I wish it wasn't so. I wish I could write objectively, and make money off of it. I wish it wasn't some emotional crutch for a person like me with an underdeveloped sense of self-esteem...

Am I truly free, writing like this?