My pre-existing friends all knew me as a drinker. Introducing myself to them again as a non-drinker has been awkward. They mean well, but I don't want their pity or their understanding. I just want it to be a non-issue. As a result (and I did not do this consciously) I turned more to my friends in World of Warcraft (hereon referred to as WoW) and less to my friends in the real world. The WoW friends don't really know me and don't care. They just want me for my ranged damage potential and that has been freeing.
Along with playing online too much, I have I immersed myself even more deeply in various writing projects. I did not realize until a very close (a pre-existing friend even) pointed it out, but it was pure escapism. She noted that everything I do, or really have ever done, for fun has been a removal from myself. Renaissance faire, World of Warcraft, drinking, and especially writing.
Who or what am I trying to escape from?
Heck if I know. I have a great life, a great family, a great job... everything is good, right? So why are my closest companions imaginary? That question is haunting me. I find I don't even know myself -- I just know the various faces I wear for different obligations. Even the writer part of me has become a persona. If I could stick all the parts of me in a blender maybe the big red mess that poured out would make sense.
The good news is that now that school has started again I am way too busy to stop and think. I just go go go and then am too exhausted for introspection.
So many writers write because they must. Why is that?
BTW, that is not my belly up there. If I was that taut I would get a belly piercing. I might even get a tattoo, only mine would be a sunburst to coincide with my stretch marks. Yeah, it will never happen.