"Is this making you feel better at all?"
I love fiction. Absolutely adore it. The best form of escapism is to live vicariously through someone else, to immerse yourself in a different world, a different life. But I’m beginning to wonder when it becomes too much - where does the limit lie? Where do we draw the line when it comes to escapism through fictional works?
I’ve caught myself always looking for the next best thing. It’s like an addiction, always looking for the next best high. I throw myself completely into something new: a tv series, a novel, even sometimes a song, and I get so wrapped up in it that it doesn’t feel like my life anymore. Until the last episode, last page, last chord and bam, you’re back into your own reality. There’s a brief period of time where I’m stuck between worlds, still trying to reconcile the fictional with my sadly lacking reality, and for a moment, I’m reminded of what I’m missing out on, on what I don’t have but exists elsewhere. It’s a hollow sort of feeling that I fill by finding the next thing to invest myself in. An endless cycle, the neverending crutch that allows me to procrastinate doing what I’m terrified of: living my own life.
There’s nothing wrong with losing yourself in another world, another mind. But when the best part of every single day is the moment when you get to go home to your books, your tv shows, then is it time to assess? Is it time to take a step back and force yourself to live? It is so easy to say things like that, but it is another to actually follow through. How do you begin to live a life that is solely your own? To go out into the world and take a risk, laugh, cry, fail, succeed, when it is so easy to stay where you are? I hate the idea of being stuck but am terrified to move forward.