Why do I do it?

Because longer ago than I am comfortable recalling, the only people who understood me were the people who lived only inside my head. Even now when the gray hair is all too visible and I know perfectly well it's all nothing but a long-ingrained coping mechanism, my imaginary friends are more real to me most times than the people I talk to every day. "I met the most amazing person!" has entirely opposite connotations whether the amazing person is real or imaginary. I don't think there was ever a time when I didn't know I was talking to imaginary people. The line has always been there. Contrary to popular belief, I've always known exactly where it was, and that I was on the wrong side of it and always would be.

So I write about them. I'm an embedded reporter in another dimension. And for a while, when I'm writing, there is no line. There is no separation. The pain goes away.