Where wild minds come to rest
This post here was initially just a comment which I wanted to leave under my last post, but then it all just exploded and I decided to make it a separate post.
First of all, I wanted to thank you all for the replies in my previous posts. I want you to know that I really appreciate that you're reading these short texts and that you share your own experience - it's somehow empowering. Surprisingly.
It feels nice to know that I'm not alone with this, that there are other people who experience the very same thing, but at the same time, there's this voice somewhere at the back of my head which says 'this is madness and nobody deserves this!'. And I think it's right - none of us really deserves going through this, however ridiculous it may sound for those people who don't understand what it's like.
Sometimes I wish I could just erase all that daydreams from my head, but every time I force myself to stay 'here' I start to feel empty, as if I annihilated a huge part of my life within a blink of an eye. Because daydreams are a huge part of my life and it's quite a demanding one, so there's no much time left for this world's stuff. It's a vicious circle.
Quite recently I tried to calculate roughly how much time of my life I've spent daydreaming (which was already difficult to asses since I can slip into my daydreams so easily at any time) and, if my calculations were right, so far I've spent around 58,240 hours daydreaming. That is 2,426 days. Almost seven years.
Slightly less than one third of my life I've been living in some imaginary world created in my head. And that scares me.
Until now, I wasn't truly aware of how big this number is. Now, I can understand why very often I'm struggling to keep in touch with my family and friends, doing the uni stuff and performing any other mundane tasks of the every day. I began to understand that I've been a very busy person. That it's extremely difficult to reconcile those two worlds, those two lives - actually, trying to stuff them into the mold designed just for one. Especially that our daydreams are in most cases our secret and they can't be used in any way as an excuse to gain some more time. It's an enormous endeavour to function in our society, more or less properly, and leading this second, clandestine life.
Now, I can understand that I could have spent those fifty-eight thousand two hundred fourty hours on something else. On something which would connect me to this world, to the real people. I could have learned and gained those skills which occupies most of my daydreams since I was a kid. I could have met the real people who would function as those imaginary ones. I could have developed myself into being the person I'm there. But I haven't. Instead, I've spent those hours pacing around, mumbling something under my nose or saying out loud, making gestures and facial expressions. Plunging into an illusionary world, but at the same time trying to be vigilant in the real one to avoid getting caught by the others - like a pendulum which slips from one side to another. Without an end.
There's a storm in my head now.
But one thing I know: I mustn't regret. It won't change a thing.