Before
All my life, I’ve been drawn to the world of fantasy. Myths, legends, folktales, fairy tales. All encapsulated my soul, bound me to the world of unseen things. Creatures, gods, magicians, and monsters danced through my dreams, both waking and sleeping. As a child I would go exploring in the woods, searching for magical creatures and lost kingdoms. I felt that if I just looked a little longer, searched a little harder, they would let me see them, and that I would be welcomed as one of their own. I suppose that is what I truly wanted more than anything else. I wanted to belong. I wanted to find out that I was some long lost princess, some half hybrid creature, or that secretly I had a natural talent for magic. Looking back, I think all of this was just a huge form of escapism to combat my internal loneliness and desire for real friends. Sadly, my obsession with the unseen fantasy world’s was both my savior and my damnation. No one wanted to be my friend because I was weird, which led me to being more weird, which then drove everyone who had even a sliver of desire to talk me away. As I got older, I realized that this obsession was a big source of my loneliness, so I backed off. I started to make friends, but I never truly let go of it all. I would still sometimes glance towards the woods, wondering if maybe a satyr was there or gaze at the sunset, hoping a phoenix would rise up with it. But it never did. I realized that all of my searching and hoping and wandering and believing were pointless.
Because the monsters only come when you’re already asleep.
