After My Crush Died, My Daydreams Took Over My Life

I’ve always had an answer in case anyone asked why I wasn’t in a relationship. In my early 20s, I didn’t even want one. Later, I would tell my friends that I didn’t need to be in a relationship to define me. I always figured I would eventually get into one at the right time, when I met the person I wanted to be with either for a long enough time or forever. I thought that time would be before I turned 30. However, as I crossed that threshold, I could no longer pretend that my lack of a partner didn’t bother me. It’s something I’ve wanted for a few years now, but it always seems to evade me.

I didn’t grow up in a deeply religious family that discouraged pre-marital sex and dating, if that’s what you’re wondering. When I was younger, we did go to church as a family every Sunday. But by around age 11, I confidently declared to my parents that I would no longer be attending church, and they were ok with it. Looking back, that period coincided with a lot of changes I went through that completely changed my way of being.

I was a young preteen girl when my first crush died. In an instant, my carefree life was permanently traded for one surrounded by immense grief. I hadn’t thought of death that much before, yet now it was constantly on my mind. I didn’t think I’d be so affected by his demise; after all, we had barely spoken full sentences to each other. However, after his death, I was overcome by feelings of sadness. I also felt extremely lonely because I couldn’t talk to anyone about it, especially not with my parents, who had raised us to bury our feelings and focus on our grades. 

I developed unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with my grief. I became terrified of the world and its uncertainty. People were not permanent, I realized. They could leave you either voluntarily or involuntarily at any given moment. I withdrew from family and friends, and subsequently from the hobbies I dearly loved. Nothing felt exciting anymore and in between my bouts of sadness, I became overly fixated on self-preservation and the idea of permanence.

The hours I’ve spent in my fantasy world are probably more than those I’ve spent in real life, with real people.

I searched for this feeling of comfort and surety and occasionally found it in food, but mostly in my dreams. When I slept, I dreamt of the good old days before the accident that took my crush away. In those dreams, I was back at a place where I was a happy-go-lucky girl; where my crush was still alive; where life and its possibilities seemed endless; where I controlled everything. 

The funny thing about dreams, though, is that they are a reflection of your reality. And eventually his death pervaded even my perfect fantasy world. At this point, I think my brain was trying to let go of the grief that had engulfed me for so long. Unfortunately, by then I had become addicted to the comfort and security that came from my fantasy world. In order to cling to it, I started subconsciously creating fictional characters that reflected what I wanted my reality to look like in terms of a spouse and a relationship.  

I accidentally discovered I was addicted to unhealthy fantasies – or maladaptive daydreaming – while in therapy to address my dissatisfaction with my life. According to Harvard Medical School, “maladaptive daydreaming occurs when a person engages in prolonged bouts of daydreaming, often for hours at a time, to cope with a problem.” It can be a response to trauma, as it is in my case. Unlike hallucinations, I am fully aware of the fact that these daydreams are a fantasy and not real life. Initially, my fantasies began as dreams while I was asleep, but they eventually started taking place when I was also awake and going through the day, especially during times when I couldn’t cope with the overwhelming feelings of grief and sadness. 

During those times, my brain actively brought the fantasies from my dreams into my conscious mind, which would help calm me down. Each time I conjured the daydreams, they would get more complex and involve us talking and going on dates. Eventually, these fantasies became subconscious and very hard to control, persistently popping into my mind. Even after I had gotten over my crush and his demise, these fantasies carried on and evolved to include new partners, a new family, a new perfect life that was removed from my reality. 

At the time I learned about maladaptive daydreaming, I was aware of my fantasies, but I hadn’t taken stock of how much they had permeated all aspects of my life. I have fled dates that weren’t going great in order to rush home and retreat to my fantasy life, where I already have a spouse and don’t have to go through the tiring dating stage. These real-life dating experiences have never been enjoyable to me because they could never match up to my fantasies. I chased after the thrill and excitement that I derived from my daydreams, but the reality felt crushingly disappointing. My dates always felt mundane; the men always felt unworthy of my time. 

I cannot count the hours of my life that I’ve spent in my fantasy world. They’re probably more than those I’ve spent in real life, with real people. Besides romantic relationships, my fantasies occasionally involve me living out a life where I am more financially stable, or have more friends and live a more adventurous life. My fantasies started out as a coping mechanism to a traumatic experience, but they quickly took over my life to a point where instead of putting in the hard work to create meaningful experiences, I resorted to just imagining that I already had them.

Discovering and unpacking my trauma and subsequent daydreams has been overwhelming and scary. I have been forced to confront the fact that I’ve lost a lot of time not living in the real world. Sometimes this realization is quite depressing, and during those times it is very tempting to just retreat to my fantasy world. I often do, but not for long periods of time like I used to. I can sense that I am ready to heal, because day by day my fantasy world seems less enticing. I crave and seek out real-life experiences more, even though sometimes I feel alienated from this human experience. But I continue to fight and work on opening myself up to new possibilities, friendships, and romantic relationships.