Dreams are my Intoxication

My birthday came and went like a souped-up honda CRV.
but as little progress I have made in Algebra, I have made ten times that other-wheres.
Of course It might seem that I have slipped further away, but I feel further away from the doom I kept seeing the horizon of.
Insanity. Deppression. It's been a long while since I've seen them. A good long while.
I like it that way.
for the first time in my life I picked up a pen (or actually my lap-top) and typed something not assigned for a class. It was terrifying.
I hid in my room, even though no one was home but my cat;
Password protected my Windows, even though no one will look at it.
And began typing. I felt foolish at first.
I wonder, does anyone else feel foolish when they write?
But am I more foolish for writing about my silly obsessions or for talking to myself and hiding in their dreamscapes.
*We are not hiding from reality, we are living in a reality we create.*
Why am i so shy about what I love?
because it's silly to love someone who doesn't exist. But it's an entirely different kind of love.
The kind I'm not getting elsewhere.