I’ve never met another maladaptive daydreamer as far as I’m aware. But then again, I’ve concealed my maladaptive daydreaming habits so well so who knows how many others out there are doing the same?
Who knows how many of my fellow artists are drawing from the thoughts that hound them in the middle of the night not allowing them sleep? Who knows how many of my classmates are only pretending to play some video game on their laptops when they’re distracted in class but they’re actually zoning out and slipping into their own fantasies?
Who knows? I don’t.
I can only tell you what it’s like to be me. And even then, you may not understand. But I can try.
In “Screwing In My Mind“, I had discussed how being a maladaptive daydreamer allows me to split my emotions between reality and fantasy. But it goes beyond that. I am capable of splitting my consciousness. Simultaneously as I live and breathe in this tangible realm of reality, the one I share with all of you, I also live in my mind.
Sometimes, the life I live on the outside and the one I live in the inside correspond, making my life really easy. And then, sometimes, they don’t.
Like as of late.
On the outside, I’ve started seeing this guy, one I can nerd out about books with in the middle of Barnes and Noble without feeling like a nerd and eat Chipotle without feeling like an addict. I’m hopelessly hoping my mother continues to stay in India for a long, long, long time because life is simply less stressful for me that way and I’ve stopped scratching ever since she left. I’m wishing to no avail that my best friend who I’m still just a little bit in love with stops not talking to me because there’s so much I want to share with him and laugh about and cry about with him. I’m missing my other two besties like crazy because one is stuck across the world and the other is stuck across the country and god knows when I’ll see either again. I’m winning the SalisMania Choice Awards’ Best Romance Novel of the Year 2023 with When You Saved Me and becoming even more famous. And I’m watching The Good Place and thinking, “To hell with the boys. I want Eleanor and Tahani to get together.”
On the inside, none of that matters. Because I’m off in la la land making love to a married man. Fuck my life.
But even as I say this, I’m laughing. I mean, it’s funny. And I get to laugh because it’s not real. It’s a stupid daydream resonant of a stupid crush. One that, yes, I’ve had for two years ever since I saw him on a motorcycle. But it’s a stupid crush. One I’m sure I’ll get over in due time. Hopefully. Maybe. I don’t know.
I mean, how many times have I had a stupid crush on an unavailable man? Like a bazillion. And how many times has it panned out? Well, twice. Almost. But in my defense, they made the first move and all they wanted was sex and they told me they were still very much in love with their women so I said, “Hard pass.” Actually, remember this. We’ll round back to that some time.
For now— Wait, where was I? Right! —as a maladaptive daydreamer, I split my time between reality and fantasy. And it helps me. Being a maladaptive daydreamer means I literally get to live my best life and my worst. Up to you to decide which life is which. But I get to. And I love it. Being a maladaptive daydreamer means I can do all those things I shouldn’t without the consequences. It’s a good thing that I can have these erotic fantasies with this married man because the alternative is acting on that stupid crush in real life and potentially destroying both of ours and many others’.
And I prefer self-preservation over self-destruction any day.
2 thoughts on “Stupid Crush”