Daydreaming is my coping mechanism.
I’d rather think of a better version of me actually doing stuff like getting some writing done and reading books and actually leaving the house (what is that even?) and meeting people and letting stories happen to me rather than staring at screens all day and staying in bed till its noon.
I think thinking about things that i want to do gives me a false sense of relief. It makes me feel a perverted duplicate of an adrenaline rush. It gives me hope but not happiness. And happiness but in the form of a lie.
I know i should probably keep my hands and in turn, my brain busy doing things that i love to do so that adult me won’t look back at teenager me and only remember screens and melancholy and an empty bed. and i know i should be strong enough to fight through all these illnesses i should be brave to face my fear rather than giving in to these waves crashing in on me taking me with them off the shore.
But sometimes its just hard to resist.
Any Puppeteer and bloody painter headcanons