THE "LIFE" OF A MALADAPTIVE DAYDREAMER
Prologue
As I sit on the couch in my bedroom, a place where I play and reenact my daydreams for more than 10 hours a day, a thought comes into my mind.
"I'm wasting my life away"
Yet as much as I want to get rid of it, the more I feel compelled to escape into my inner world. That world of my own where I control absolutely every aspect of it. The world that gives me the outlet for all the feelings I have inside and portrays exactly the person I want to be but I fear to not be good enough to be.
The world where I'm the almighty god that can change, rewrite and improve every detail, without any consequence.
You might daydream in your everyday life about your future, your worklife, your romantic life and even your fantasies for a few minutes.
But not me. Maladaptive Daydream means I live in my daydream and real life is the fantasy I'm constantly trying to escape to. Every free moment Ihave I use to daydream like when I drive, when I shower, when I'm walking, when I workout, when I wash my teeth, even when I masturbate, there is not a moment in my day I don't go back to my fantasy life.
Because my reality sucks.
In my reality I'm nobody and have nothing. Reality gets me depressed, reality hurts, reality is lonely, and it angers me.
Why will I choose such a life?
Because, when you have a whole world of your own with characters that feel alive in your heart. Characters that you can touch, kiss, talk and love.
Why would I let go?... Can I even let go?
Knock - Knock
Someone is at the door. Oh, how I hate when people interrupt my daydreams. It makes me angry. I just want to be left alone.
"Ana, do you want something to eat?," says my mother, barely opening the door. I guess she is just tired of me lashing out everytime she interrupts my endless alone moments of daydreaming.
"No, I'm ok, please close the door" I say, covered in my blanket with my laptop over my legs.
"It's nine pm, you haven't eaten all day. You haven't left the room at all. Have you gone to the bathroom?" she asks as she tries to tidy up my room as best as she can, "I think you are becoming addicted to those goddamn TV shows you watch all day"
No mom, it isn't the shows I watch that keep me awake until 3 am,
"It's my day off. I'm tired, I just need some time on my own. Please stop bothering me. I really feel like doing nothing"
"You are wasting your youth away. A boyfriend is not going to come knocking at your door you know," she says as she grabs the dirty laundry on the floor.
I know my mom is tired of insisting that I get out of my room. But after almost 20 years of showing the same behaviours, she realized she doesn't have to insist anymore. I know she basically is giving up on me already.
How many times has she told me to go out during my life? I can't remember. Sometimes, I even think that the few, not to say almost nonexistent relationships I have, are all because of her.
I even think that the fact I have a boyfriend now, in reality, is because of her.
"Did you call Dante?"
"What?"
"Did you call your boyfriend? Are you even listening to me? Close the computer and pay attention to what I'm saying!" she yells. I know she is starting to lose her patience with me.
But what can I say? I wasn't really paying attention. I was fading into a daydream as she speaked. "Yeah I did call him," I lied.
"What did he say?," she asks excitedly as she sits in my bed.
"He said he had a busy day at work"
"That 's it?," she asks with a curious face.
"Yeah, that's it. We don't talk that much when he calls"
Actually I tend to not listen to what my boyfriend says when I call him.
I get distracted easily when he talks and my ADHD does not in any way help me to pay attention either, so he is the one that talks most of the time.
Don't get me wrong.
Is not that I don't love him. I really do. But lately, he has been acting differently so I would rather daydream than listen to what he has to say.
Of course, there is a 90% chance that he is changing because I don't listen to what he says or spend any time with him because of my voluntary daydream solitary confinement.
I suck as a girlfriend I know.
"Don't lose him. He is a good guy and he really cares about you," my mom says.
"Yeah I know. Mom I'm busy, please go" I lie again.
"Ok, if you want something to eat I left some food in the fridge," she says as she exits the room.
As soon as the door locks. I turn up the music volume on that Modern Talking song I listen to every day. The sound fills my mind as a trigger and suddenly I see him.
Ren. In his classic black cargo pants, military boots, white shirt and Vivienne Westwood accessories. His dark hair, fair skin, grey eyes, handsome and proportionate features, looking directly at me.
He has a certain aura of pure passion in his gaze. I kind of unexplained sexiness and beauty I've come to love. I become him, I want to be him. I am him. He is my secret life, my secret self. The one that no one knows, but the most important in my life.
Ren. My addictive life, my Maladaptive Daydream.
This is not my story. This is our story.
CHAPTER 1
The world where he belongs
I can't pinpoint the year when he was born, or created actually...
Sometimes I pretend we share the same birthday and the same age. After all, we have grown up together, experienced similar situations and gone through the same hardships. We've shared the same pain.
Like me, his father was never around. As a famous movie producer, he had no time to spend with Ren and his brothers, especially after his wife had died when Ren was only a baby.
Eventually he remarried to a wonderful woman. A mother that Ren needed at such a young age. A strong willed beautiful african american woman that showered him with all the love he desperately needed. A stay at home mom that supported him through his journey as a musician.
She bought him his first violin, took him to his first piano lesson, and encouraged him to write his very first songs. Modern Talking songs such as "You are my heart" and "Brother Louie".
Yeah, because in his world these are the first songs he wrote.
He is a genius musician that can basically write any music genre and is considered the best musician ever.
From Michael Jackson's "Thriller", to Mozart's "Lacrimosa," in his world, there are all his songs. There is no genre in which he doesn't excel with his wide variety of tunes.
And as such, his style doesn't stay behind. He uses the best outfits without fear of prejudice or judgement. Avantgarde clothes that break with society's stereotypes of what men should wear like bright colors, make-up, jewelry, and extremely bold clothing; like a pink suit with silver necklaces and spike earrings.
For him, normal is boring.
Not like me, a simple person who has her clothes chosen for her everytime she tries to step out of the room.
"Honey, that dress doesn't look good. It makes you look chubby. Try the pants. They are more flattering," my mother will say everytime I try to go on a date with my boyfriend.
How am I supposed to react when she says things like that and makes me feel inadequate?
Now that I think about it, I believe that there is not a single item of clothing in my closet has been chosen by me. Not a single one.
My mother and my friends wonder why I don't like to go shopping even though "I'm a girl", but to be honest with you, it's because I don't know what I like. What feels good to me? What makes me happy? I sincerely don't know.
Everytime I'm alone buying something for myself a thought always comes to mind: "I wonder if my mother likes this." How messed up is that? So lately I try to not think about it. I just let her buy whatever she wants and dress me how she likes me to dress.
I'm my mom's personal doll. A 30 year old doll with no personality whatsoever.
But enough about me!
My story is boring.
This is about him. About Ren.
You could never force Ren to wear something he doesn't like. Never. He will tell you to your face: "Fuck off, I do as a please".
Man, I like the guy so much because he is so straightforward. He will never let anyone control him or his decisions. Well, except for me of course. He is my creation after all.
For being a celebrity, he doesn't drink alcohol, no drugs, no pills. He just smokes his occasional cigarette after a wild night of sex with his boyfriend.
Yeah, he is gay. A fashionable, artistic and gay man. He is totally BFF material for Ru Paul.
He might sound like a conventional cliche with an unconventional origin in the mind of a lonely girl, but what can be more fabulous than a person who lives his truest life without any fear from what others might think.
Sometimes I wish I could be as selfish as him and start to live my own lifeā¦.
Back off me. This is about Ren
You know what, maybe I should let him do the talking, shall we?
"You sure?," he answers in his characteristic sexy voice.
"Yeah Ren. I'm sure. You should do the talking, after all this is your story"
