I should have known I was becoming depressed from the amount I’ve been reading the past eight or nine months. I’ve always read a lot, even as a kid I’d fly through book after book. I had the reading age of a fifteen years old by nine. I don’t know why but at some point along the way I stopped reading so much and started binge watching TV shows on Netflix and movies that I genuinely had no interest in.
Reading takes time and effort. It puts you into the shoes of the protagonist. Movies and TV shows give you an insight, yet they can never display the array of emotions the way a book can using words. You can become absorbed by a book, if you let it. You can take on the feelings of that character and picture yourself in their life. You can read it aimlessly as ultimately you’ve no control over what’s happening next. It’s not like real life where you’re expected to make a decision and communicate with people.
I’ve read hundreds, if not thousands of books where being the narrator has seemed much more appealing that my own life. It’s not that my life is dull and needs to be shaken up from the mundane, I just don’t like it. In fact I hate it.
Sitting here in and waiting room, writing this, passing seconds until a therapist is ready to see me next. How much I wish I could tell them somebody else’s problems and not my own. The fact I want to lie to them… Does that make me more fucked up?