My story is my story not mal not adaptive and certainly not daydreaming! 2024 has been a hard year. It has threatened to drown me. I could not swim. I had no life jacket – only the dreams in my head. I would sit for hours reflecting on my failings and then reject my reality for my daydream. In this world, I create I can be anybody – and everybody. I never fail or make a mistake. I could edit my stories until they satisfied me. I felt free. For a few hours, I was free.
I was the best in my world. I felt no pain. No one hurt me or did me wrong. In my world I was strong. I did not need anybody else. I could build my island and eject or admit whoever I please. But it was mine, in a world where I had no space. I went into my head. I stayed there for an hour to find the grace to come back into my hell for a time. But I knew anywhere any time I could go back and be safe.
“You are falling behind.” “You better pay attention.” No. I can stay for however long I want and the world will stop to let me be. Who could say what hour or the time of day, but me, I made it so. But things got slow in the real world and so my fake world became real and the real became fake and then I got confused. I became locked in my world and lost the key longer and longer each time. I stayed there a willing prisoner and hoped no one would notice or at least would not burst the bubble.
But while they label my world, a “compulsive fantasy” and try to attach blame I remain committed to my prison. There is nothing more important than saving my world, I can allow those childish dreams to die because they were never real. Those wish upon a star dreams never came true and left with what to do I crafted a new world and planted seeds that would take root. While I must physically stay in the world I now hate more and more, I crave the world no one sees but me. I crave it more than food, more than the air I breath
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