Destroying My Life by Living in a Fantasy
I always thought that one day I would be rich and famous
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I’ve always had an overactive imagination. I lived a lot of my life in flights of fancy and fantasy. Part of it is because I have psychosis, and my mind is continually trying to trick me into believing things that aren’t true.
Ever since I can remember, I thought I would do extraordinary things.
Even though I grew up in a restrictive religion that tried to make me believe that college was a selfish waste of time that could be better spent preaching about God, I always knew I would go.
I knew I would do amazing things with my life.
Somehow, I convinced myself that my life would be significant and successful, and I would be rich and famous. My naive mind created life paths for me to take, and in my dreams, I walked them.
But I had a lot working against me from the beginning. Of course, my family’s religion exerted control over every aspect of my life. I didn’t think for myself because all my decisions and activities were already planned for me ahead of time.
I doubt I would have gone to school if it wasn’t the law. The religion I grew up in already provided everything they thought we needed with their bibles and books, and in addition to my schoolwork, I obsessively studied the bible because that is what was expected of me.
But I had to go to school, and there my Christian morals would be tested every day, and I would have to prove my allegiance to God and the church in everything I did, even if that meant being an outcast among my peers. I was constantly supposed to stand up and let everyone know about my allegiance to this religion, shunning all school activities and holidays like Christmas and birthdays. A particular amount of hate was directed at me because I didn’t salute the flag.
But, despite it all, I excelled in school. The administrators reprimanded me continuously because I had not learned how to function in a normal environment, only in a highly sterilized and entitled one. I didn’t know how to deal with confrontation, and my self-control was lacking.
I had unrealistic expectations for myself and couldn’t handle failure.
Still, I excelled. I was a good writer and speaker, partly from my religious training and ongoing bible study. I loved music and art and reading about history and science.
I even learned about forbidden subjects like evolution and sex. When other kids were playing, I was in the library reading encyclopedias and National Geographic. When the other kids were having Christmas and Birthday parties, I was in the library reading magazines and newspapers.
I knew I was different, but one day everyone would eat their hate and their bullying because I would be rich and famous and they would be forced to acknowledge that I was better than them. That was how my mind thought.
Even as a child, I started setting unrealistic ideals and goals for myself. I lived in a fantasy world that my mind created for me to deal with the bullying from my classmates and the indifference from my teachers. As I grew, mental health issues started to crop up and I didn’t know how to handle them.
As I got older, and my mental illness got worse, I started retreating inward and fell back on my fantasy life to cope with the things going on in my mind I couldn’t understand. Outwardly, I tried to be a normal kid at school and a good Christian all other times, but inside, I lived a reality that was closer to magic and fairytales than anything else.
I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to go to college, get a job, be an entrepreneur, make money, buy anything I wanted and be anything I wanted to be. I knew I would be so rich I could do or say what I wanted when I wanted.
In my mind, the world was my oyster, just waiting for me to arrive and slurp it up, pearls and all.
My late teens and early twenties saw me faced with more reality than I could handle. Because of my illness and finances, I quit school. I parted with my Christian life and instead embraced drugs and alcohol. I married young to the first person that came along who could put up with my shit and started working a string of soul-crushing low-wage jobs.
As my dreams of college and a life of wealth and fame got farther and farther away in reality, I sunk deeper into my fantasy life. Nothing was off-limits in fantasy, so I immersed myself in anything that would feed my overactive imagination.
Because my dream life was so good, nothing in real life could match up. As hard as my first wife tried, she was never good enough, and I was always looking for something or someone else. Even though I made the best of my crappy jobs and moved into management, I felt like the work I was doing was beneath me.
I felt entitled to the good life that my fantasies had been feeding me every day for my whole life, and nothing or nobody was ever good enough.
I jumped from job to job and always had a new business idea I was working on. Later, I even went to college and had a few years where I was too busy for fantasy, and I was at the top of my class of overachievers. Who knows what may have happened had I stayed grounded in reality? Who knows what I could have accomplished?
But, the constant grind of long hours at work and full-time at college ate away at the barriers I’d built to hold my mental illness at bay, and I crashed.
I quit school shortly after I got my associate's degree and dove face-first into a new career.
The next few years would see me moving up in status and earnings until I was earning more than I could have ever dreamed, but I wasn’t taking care of myself and my mind. My illness got so out of control that the only thing holding me together was drugs and self-harm.
Eventually, it all came crashing down, and I lost everything. After a few years, all that was left of me and my dream life was a computer and a dirty, empty apartment. I’d lost my family, my job, and my life.
All I had was my fantasies.
On the outside, I was a mentally ill loser, a shut-in, alone. My illness ran rampant and ravaged my mind. My physical health became worse as my weight ballooned. I lived on weed, prescription drugs, fast food, self-harm, and cigarettes.
But when I closed my eyes, it was different. I still believed I was special and one day would have everything I wanted and more. It was okay that I was on disability because one day, I would be rich and famous and could buy anything or anyone I wanted.
It was okay that I was ill now because my mental health wouldn’t matter when I had everything. Rich people can afford the best doctors.
I would lose weight, get plastic surgery and my teeth fixed, and be a completely different person — a powerful, wealthy, and happy person.
All the pain I had to deal with was okay because it wouldn’t even matter one day.
My life stayed that way for a long time until, one day, reality hit me in the face. I was 43, on disability, fat, in poor health, and alone. Something inside me wanted to change, and I knew I was the only one who could do it.
I embraced change.
I moved to a different country, got married again, started taking better care of myself, and made plans and set goals. It was all great until I had to start making things happen.
The problem was, my expectations were too high. I couldn’t just be an entrepreneur; I had to be wealthy. I couldn’t just make a living; I had to be a millionaire. I couldn’t just be a writer; I had to be one of the famous and rich ones.
After years of hustling and I still wasn’t rich, I started to give up. Sure, I’m still trying other things, like YouTube, but I couldn’t just be a creator; I had to be rich.
Every day, it was a new plan or scheme that would bring me and my family wealth. It was a constant cycle of being on top of the world one minute and being down in the muck the next. One day, I would work my fingers to the bone to make my dream happen; the next, I couldn’t get out of bed or even lift my head.
It was the same thing, over and over, and I wasn’t any closer to living my fantasies and unrealistic dreams.
All this time, my wife had been watching me. You see, my wife got hurt badly a few times, and because of that, she never makes plans or sets goals. She sees me running around chasing a new idea one day and depressed the next, feeling like a failure.
She sees through my bullshit.
She knows I’m mentally ill, but she’s not letting me use it as an excuse to keep turning our lives upside down all the time.
She finally put her foot down and told me I need to start thinking a bit more realistically. In fact, she has been telling me that for years, but I never listened until recently.
It made me think, and I started asking questions:
- Why all the pressure to be rich?
- Why can’t I be a writer or creator? Why do I feel the need to add rich and famous to that title?
- Do I think the reason I haven’t gotten anywhere yet is that I put too much pressure and set my expectations too high?
- Do I want to continue on this roller coaster until I die?
It’s been a difficult few years, and to say I’m depressed is an understatement. It is hard for me to picture a future for my family that doesn’t involve us being rich and successful. I’m fighting against my own mind, and all those years I conditioned myself by living in a fantasy world.
- Can I still excel if the goal is fulfillment instead of wealth?
- Can I stay motivated if money isn’t the result?
- Can I get myself out of this constant hustle and grind and take back my life?
- Who am I if I can’t be wealthy and famous?
Well, I’m a father of five beautiful kids, and I can start by not treating them as an afterthought. I have a wife who loves me and wants my time and attention, not what I can buy her. She doesn’t care if I can get her a new car, only fulfillment.
I just had a heart attack; I need to be thinking of my health as well and stop saying that one day I will be healthy. I need to get out of my head and out of the fantasy that has been driving my life for so long. It is not healthy for me to keep telling myself that all I need to do is push hard now because one day I will have all the money I need and I can take care of myself then.
I still don’t know how to move on without that golden carrot dangling in front of me, but I’ll learn.
I’m starting to think of things I could do that wouldn’t necessarily make me rich but would make me happy. I want to learn a few new things and explore a few more options.
I’m 53 years old. Can I change my ways and try to live my life differently, or is it too late?
It all remains to be seen.
