This blog started as somewhere to post my creative writing but my short stories quickly became outnumbered by mental health posts. But the two are linked!
I’ve always had a very active imagination, make-believe was my favourite game as a kid. I loved reading and would completely immerse myself in the worlds I found between the pages of a book. For the most part, it would be fantastical stories of witches or fairies or hobbits, I’d be inspired by what I watched on TV.
But at some point, it stopped being a game and became a coping mechanism. As life got harder to bear I retreated further and further inside my imagination. It got to the point where I spent more time in my own head than I did in reality. (Something that hasn’t changed all that much) They became more realistic fantasies of having lots of friends or my family coming into money – the life I could lead if I had more opportunities or if I was a better, more likeable person. I would completely disassociate from reality and when real life came knocking I would sink into an intense depression. Like waking up from an amazing dream to find that you actually weren’t on a yacht in the Maldives with a gorgeous man and you’re in fact alone in your bed in your shitty apartment and you have to be at the office in an hour… Specific because it’s true.
I started to dread every day even more now that I had my own little world to escape to. I wanted to live there forever. Sleep forever and dream forever. I couldn’t stand having to be me again.
Inside my head was bright and colourful, full of joy whilst my reality was monochrome; bleak and cold.
My imagination is still my best coping mechanism and I still retreat into books to escape from real life. As I got older I found that this translated into creative writing. Without realising, I had been training my entire life to be a storyteller. The practicality of actually writing and writing well is a different matter but my imagination is a powerful one. I have notebooks full of book and movie ideas; on any given day my mind is running off five or so storylines that I have to try and keep up with. The premise unravels in my head quicker than I can write it down.
I never realised this was in any way unique or impressive until I started to admit it to people. I was always embarrassed that my ideas were rubbish and cliche until I realised that having an imagination isn’t just part of being a person – it’s an individual personality trait.
The very idea that I have written out a storyline and a plan for a novel amazes so many people! When I say I’m trying to write a book people say “That’s so impressive” without actually knowing if my writing is any good.
I’ve gone off track and completely lost the point of this post…
I guess I just wanted to highlight the link between the two things; my mental illness and my creativity. It’s not just an outlet to express myself but it’s also a precious escape for when the world gets too much.
Which is a lot of the time.
BeccaEllenWrites 