Messed UpWhy do I create?
I need to make things - people, characters - who are completely dependent on me. It doesn't matter that they're not real. That is what makes them mine. They cannot live without me. I plot out their lives. In my hands, they dance and love and mourn and die. Their minds spiral out of control, because they never had it in the first place.
They are mine. I am important to them, and I am not important to many people. Do I have a god complex? Yes. The creature most dear to my heart is dying, and I hate it, because I cannot control it. It wouldn't be alive if it weren't for me. I keep it warm, give it water. I force food into its mouth because it won't eat on its own. But I can't stop death, and it's tearing me up.
My room. My other pets stare at me with blank eyes. Until recently, they were my Hopes and Dreams. They've seen so much. They will never die before me. They can be anything I want them to be - my stuffed animals.
Did I have a point here? Maybe. I'm a paranoid bitch. Keep thinking she's ignoring me on purpose. Why should I care? She used me. Or did I use her? So confused. So naive.
But what's important is that there is no one I know that I want to die before. Godammit, live is so rich right now. I can't imagine leaving. At least not until I find that person.
