It was finally over.
I could finally feel the adrenaline, the pounding of my heart and the pouring images, voices, and words all disappear.
After hours of constant thinking, tapping, and writing, it was finally over.
I should be happy.
I should be excited.
But I feel so empty.
So dead.
Writing was one of the few things that made me feel, one of the few things that gave me life.
It made me frustrated on so many levels that this part of me was such a double-edged sword.
With it, I felt alive and could create a family.
Without it, I was dead, alone.
With it, I hated how I couldn't stop creating, how I couldn't do anything else until the rush had dried out.
Without it, I missed the rush and how it gave me company and happiness.
A double-edged sword, it surely was.
A way to filter my feelings, thoughts, and experiences.
But left me with nothing to keep for myself.
At first, it was nothing but a harmless hobby. Exercise my brain and increase my skills in usage of language or whatever.
But then, I had become addicted. Writing that one little itsy bitsy story had sent me down a spiral of constant writing.
I couldn't stop no matter how much I wanted to.
I had become dependent on it to express myself and understand my emotions.
So dependent I can't do anything without it.
No matter where I go, I'm constantly creating scenario after scenario of what could happen, what could change.
Possibility after possibility.
I could go anywhere, be doing anything and it's right there. Whispering it's sweet alluring words, words and stories that it wants me to write and create.
I couldn't escape from the dark abyss it had sucked me into.
So I let it consume me.
~~
280 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...
