Escaping Into Fiction
For the nights books become shelter—insomnia, anxiety, escapism, comfort reads, and the fictional worlds we borrow until reality feels survivable again.
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Old houses, old murders, and fictional ghosts are easier company than the thoughts that refuse to explain themselves.
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Some nights the only way to quiet my own world is to disappear into somebody else’s until morning.
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Fiction offers doors I can open without fear—and monsters I can turn off when reality starts closing in.
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An unreliable fictional mind mirrors anxiety’s cruelest question: can I trust what my own brain is telling me?
