no escape

For the first time in my life I don't want to read, write, watch or even think about anything. It's come to the point where it hurts too much to dwell or hope for things to happen. As a kid I had my ways of escape. I'd often read, in fact, sometimes I would literally hide myself in a closet or under a bed and just read until I forgot where I actually was, fully throwing my self into a fictional fairytale. Then I figured out I could write and I loved it even more, because now I was the one controlling the outcome. I took solace in books and my stories that were utterly ridiculous. For whatever reason, they helped, but now it seems they do the complete opposite. It seems like escaping is even more agonizing they actually facing reality. When did that happen? It all seems so silly and over dramatic and yet there it is.