Reminded that the World is Real (blog)

Sometimes I get really bored or worried or both and start to think no one else is real besides me. And that everything is an elaborate labyrinth made by my mind. To be honest, the only way I don't believe this is because I doubt my mind can make the great poems I look up to, or books, or any other artistic forms of media, even if I'm not aware of it. I sometimes think if I stop interacting with people long enough they'll all go away and it will be revealed that my world is, indeed, made up by me. But if it was a labyrinth I don't really care, because, well, it is still real to me. I think this just stems from pure boredom or solipsism. Even if these people aren't real they still get upset and it's kinda fun to just think of them as ants to take care of and make happy or something. Like when my dad gets mad or something, if I ignore him for long enough he might come and confess to being made up or something similar. But that's whatever, I'm pretty paranoid and bored if you can't tell, since I'm finally writing this thought out. Since this has more so turned out to be a diary entry (even though not really) I think I won't relapse again. Because I've thought about it and then thought about it more and just felt stupid to relapse over something so yay, typing, or thinking, or writing things out helps if you're more likely to do it or not