I hated it. I hated every part of me that made me desire to create things.
I hated myself. Why was I like this? Why was I haunted by this need to create? To write?
Why was it that I felt most alive only when I drew?
I could only ask questions that I would never get answers to as I was thrown through a constant loop of creating and abandoning.
Abandoning.
Once my mind stopped flooding with ideas for a story I was made to abandon it. I could almost never finish a story. No matter how long, how short I just couldn't finish.
Creating gave me a rush, kind of like an adrenaline high, but once it was over, and the ideas stopped flooding my mind, I couldn't do anything anymore.
And I left that world to rot into nothing but a chapter that was to never be finished.
I didn't like doing it but I couldn't seem to stop myself. When I was writing, I was full of ideas, I loved it.
But once my desire had left me, it was flat, boring, unrealistic, horrific, embarrassing, so straight-forward, undescriptive, nonsense.
I hated it.
I spent so much time creating, creating, creating and I couldn't bring myself to love it in the end.
Why couldn't I just make something that I could love forever?
Why was I ashamed of myself? My work?
I couldn't answer my own questions as I stared at the dozens of stories and story ideas I had abandoned.
I loved them, I had thrown my all into them, and in the end, I still couldn't make myself finish them.
~~
275 words.
- Kari
YOU ARE READING
Her Worlds
FanfictionShe was haunted by the insatiable need to create. It was a feeling that haunted her, loomed over her every hour of every day. And she was sick of it. But she couldn't ignore the itching feeling, the restlessness, the anxiety she got when she ignore...
