I didn't yet have the mental stability to write, but I could read. The stories in the books transported me to other worlds. They let me become someone else. Not that I needed any help with that, but the stories in the books actually grounded me. It was the power of literature.
Was I some asshole on a typewriter writing my own fate, solely for the entertainment of readers? Solely for self-validation? Self-preservation? Self-worth? Was I just some creative who was destroying my life for accolades and achievements?
Fuck the literary world. I wanted to write something I'd want to read. And isn't that what art is about, anyway? Expressing yourself the way you want to. Maybe that's why I had been so scared to actually finish and release a book.