Fantasy traps

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There is a particular kind of sweetness that lives entirely in the mind. It arrives quietly. A glance. A passing thought. Then suddenly, butterflies. Little ones at first, then whole flocks.

One moment I was going about my days, doing my work, showing up to social settings. The next, I realized my attention had slipped elsewhere. Not to a place, but to a person. Or rather, to a version of a person I had carefully built in my head. In that private world, we had a story. A beginning. A future. A life that felt warm, comforting, and oddly complete.

The fantasy was tender. It felt like a soft blanket I could wrap myself in whenever reality felt dull or demanding. I started craving it. Wanting phone calls to end so I could return to it. Wanting social moments to finish quickly so I could be alone with my thoughts. Slowly, subtly, it began to affect how I showed up in real life. I grew impatient. Distracted. Slightly irritable. Tasks that should have been easy felt heavy because my mind was elsewhere.

The turning point wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet honesty. I shared what I was experiencing with my sister, half-laughing at first. But her response landed gently and firmly. A crush is normal, she said. Fantasy is human. But the moment the imagined world becomes more appealing than the real one, something is off.

That was hard to hear. And necessary.What followed was grounding. Repeatedly, intentionally, sometimes uncomfortably. I reminded myself of reality. That this person didn’t know I existed. That I had turned them into an idea, not a human. I broke the illusion by naming real traits, real limitations, real boundaries. Every time my mind drifted, I brought it back. Again and again.

It is still work in progress but two weeks down the road, something has shifted. The fog is lifting. My focus is returning. My relationships have felt present again. I am seeing, with clarity, how easy it is to fall in love with a story instead of a life.

This isnt a failure. It is a lesson. One about self-awareness. About reaching out. About choosing reality, even when fantasy feels softer.

And most of all, about catching myself before I disappear into something that feels good, but isn't good for me.

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