I started reading again. This is a big achievement for me. I haven’t managed to love and finished a book, let alone an entire series, since leaving uni. So like two years.
Why does that matter?
Reading used to be a way for me to escape all reality. I would finish a book within 2 days. Engorge myself in the world on the page before me. Be emotionally invested in the characters. Feel what they felt. Cry when they died.
For a while I have not been able to feel emotion in the same way. I could not attach myself to world in a book. I was distant, vacant, a zombie. Sleeping in a daze not knowing how to connect back to the world I used to love and escape to.
I’m resorting to teen fiction to get me back into reading. Even the glimpse at soppy romance is making me crave something I’ve not wanted in a while. That exotic intimacy from a new relationship. The excitement of getting to know someone, the first kiss and then some.
It looks like reading could be a way forward. A distraction from this world. A reminder that not every relationship I try to get into will fail. That being with someone isn’t as awful as I paint it out to be. Reading makes me feel. Fell emotions I had buried because I felt hurt, and every encounter after which had resulted in failure, humiliation, will not happen every time.
I am invested in these characters. Right now I don’t care about the style of writing or the other judgemental ways uni has taught me to look at things. Being inside this book is all that matters right now.
I live in the words of another.