20,000 words.

I'm 20,000 words in with my latest novel and as I reach the halfway mark I feel half empty. 
Not fully. Just almost half empty. Like all I have in me is words and I threw 20,000 of them at a blank screen and left them there, leaving their places empty inside of me.
I'm 20,000 words in with my latest novel and I feel like the most real parts of me have been hidden underneath those 20,000 words and now they're unearthed. 
Like all of that anxiety and self hatred and those dreams and hopes and plans and repressed memories and all that love was always there but buried underneath 20,000 words. Just waiting for me to find it. 
I'm 20,000 words in with my latest novel and I feel alone.
Like for the last year there have been voices in my head telling me a story and now I'm 30,000 words away from putting them completely on paper, giving them a home, and they won't be here anymore. 
I'm 20,000 words in with my latest novel and I have spent so much time already forming and creating and planning these people and this world and everything about them that I have forgotten who I am. I am 20,000 words closer to realizing that I've never known who I am without these made up people.
And I don't know how to handle the real world.