• I find a lot of things more difficult than most people would. And the expectation to be normal and deal like a “normal” person would is just another thing I have to find ways to deal with. I’m forced out of my comfort zone, forced to conform in a way that’s uncomfortable for me and just feels… not me. For a while, I thought I was growing more toward normalcy. I thought I was doing better. But after my grandparents divorced and my grandmother moved in, there have been several times where she doesn’t understand me. And I realize I’m still… not “normal.” All the advice I'm given... isn't me. It's how THEY deal with things. It often doesn't take into full consideration what my problems are. This expectation of me to deal with things normally… make molehills out of things that feel like mountains… it just forces me, more and more, to don a mask that everything’s okay and “I got this” when I’m really just grasping at threads and hoping I can hang on. All the while, on the inside, I’m just being pushed further and further into the dark abyss of self-doubt and hatred. Not the kind where I want to hurt myself. It’s the kind that sends me more and more into my own mind and imagination.

    When I write, I’m not a 21 year old college student with no job, no romantic life, and minimal social life. I’m not someone who struggles to overcome petty stresses or becomes paralyzed and self-absorbed when I don’t know how to deal. I’m not someone who’s constantly fearing failure and oversensitive when I do fail. I’m a different person entirely, in a sense. I delve into that character and imagine a different person with different problems in a world where I’m in control and can put an end to the problems.

    My characters always start out in a sucky situation. Then they meet someone, fall in love, and that beloved person gives them shelter, support, and love. Eventually, with help from friends and that beloved person, they managed to find their way out of the sucky and into happiness. And even if more sucky arrives, that support is still there. That’s something I’ve never had. I have support from my mom and friends. But… it’s starting to not be enough. Aside from a few close friends... that support hasn't come from anyone else, much less any romantic interest.

    And to pile on top of that, life has a bad habit of coming to slap me in the face when I think I’ve gotten better.

    In a recent conversation with my mother, we discussed what should happen if both her and my grandma were to die in an accident. The house and money would be left to me, but should it be put into a trust with someone else in control, or would I be able to handle it? I figured I’d reached a point where I could handle everything with a bit of hand-holding on things I was unfamiliar with, but my dream that night said, “Yeah, no.”

    That dream had “You’re a miserable failure” written all over it in big, bold, red letters and the events that came later would only prove that to me.

    A petty fuss with Mom over how much can be fit into the dishwasher ended with my brain translating a statement from her as, “You did it wrong. I did it right for you. You’re welcome.” And she was right. I could have fit more in there despite how I thought no more could fit. But it hurt, especially when she skirted around my comment of, "So I did something wrong then," without denying it.

    Then I was ultimately at fault for my grandma’s fragile mood the following day. I tried to do everything right, but in the end things slipped from my grasp and a chain reaction of events caused my grandma to cry and I was the first domino that fell.

    That’s why I spend so much time in imaginary worlds. I escape from my own problems and find ways to solve problems and heal pain of characters that aren’t real. I connect with those characters emotionally and… I suppose I try to find comfort in them, even if it’s just for a bit. I try to find comfort in situations I’ve never experienced before, which probably seems odd. I imagine what it’s like to have more normal problems, a normal social life, or to be in mutual love and to know that even if things go wrong, I’d still have a loving pair of arms to fall into and know that everything will be okay despite whatever turbulence is there. Sometimes it doesn’t work. I often find myself silently crying and longing for that. I didn’t choose to be this way, but it feels like life is punishing me for it. And sometimes withdrawing into my fantasies of made-up characters is all I have to cushion the blows.

    I often find myself sulking alone in the dark, wondering why I can’t be more normal in these things. I give up too easily on things. I lack motivation despite the want if something seems far out of reach. I just… shut down. And I hate that and it makes me hate myself. All the more reason I hide away in stories of my creation. Because there, I'm in control and… I’m not me. I don’t want to be me. But I am me, and that won’t change, so this is the best I can do until I can figure things out.