The sound of your alarm clock forces you out of bed. You leave your partner behind in it. You hear a groan and see one eye open, but you smile mischievously and walk out of the bedroom. You know your partner [[will follow.|kitchen DONE]]You're filling up the Keurig when your partner walks into the kitchen. It's the same routine as every morning, during which the highlight is drinking fresh coffee with your partner and making eyes at each other from across the table.
[[You could stare into those eyes all day.|confused DONE]][[STORYBROOKE INTERRUPTED|real-life scenario begins DONE]]You get ready for work, pinning your sheriff's badge to your red leather jacket. You blink and the jacket looks black for a second. <i>Hmm. Strange.</i>
You look around the apartment and see it's... different. Your couch and TV are in different places than usual. How long have the kitchen table and chairs been white? There's a fruit bowl on the table... where did you get that? You rack your brain but can't remember.
<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/53/ba/43/53ba43ee9a6472dde5896d3472fdb28b.png" style="width:800px;height:450px;"/>
[[Your frown disappears when your son, Henry, walks into the room.|Henry DONE]]"I'm off to school," he says. "I have a pretty big exam today. It's going to make or break my history grade."
You say:
[[Good luck, kid, I'm sure you'll do great!|no exam format DONE]]
[[How much have you studied?|Henry says DONE]]"You know the material, so you'll be fine. You're a smart boy. Don't stress."
"Thanks," he says as he walks out the door. "See you later."
The second the door closes, you feel your partner's arms wrap around you from behind. You lean back instinctively. A voice murmurs in your ear, "You don't <b>have</b> to go to work yet, do you?"
[[You're still a bit disoriented and you need a distraction.|stay home DONE]]
[[The offer is tempting, but you have obligations.|don't stay home DONE]]"I memorized the study guide, so I should be fine," Henry says. "I'm just not looking forward to the short answer questions.
[[There are five of them, for ten points each."|Henry's exam format DONE]]
[[Short answers aren't my strongest suit."|no exam format DONE]]Five short answers, ten points each. Something about the phrase tugs at the back of your mind. You shake it off and tell Henry, "You know the material, so you'll be fine. You're a smart boy. Don't stress."
"Thanks," he says as he walks out the door. "See you later."
A few minutes later, you kiss your partner goodbye (as tempting as it is to stay at home together for a bit) and [[leave too.|car scene DONE]]You walk to where your car, a bright yellow VW Beetle, is parked. It's usually along a curb, but today it's in a parking space. That's odd. Oh, well.
<img src="https://data.whicdn.com/images/237898721/large.jpg" style="width:800px;height:528px;"/>
You get in and turn the key. The vehicle sputters. Right, you've been meaning to take it to a mechanic. You have enough time to do that and walk the rest of the way to work.
[[You decide to do just that.|fix car DONE]]
[[This bug is pretty durable. The mechanic can wait.|don't fix car DONE]]You drive downtown, past the diner and the pawnshop and the florist. Everything's as quaint as it always is in Storybrooke, Maine.
The car stalls a bit at a stoplight, but you're careful to let the car in front of you get far enough ahead before you put more pressure on the gas pedal. There's a chance you might lurch forward — and you do. You're glad you were mostly aware of your surroundings.
You keep driving and try not to blink as you notice the buildings on Main Street look different than they just did. Wait, is that a pawnshop or an administrative building of some sort? Is that a diner or a dining hall?
"Get it together, Sheriff," you mutter.
You keep driving. You make it to the mechanic. Thankfully this building doesn't seem to be playing tricks on your eyes. You thank the mechanic and walk a few blocks.
Finally, you make it to [[the police station|station / classroom DONE]]. A familiar car is parked nearby. You sigh because you know who you have to deal with.
<img src="https://i.stack.imgur.com/5sV0N.jpg" style="width:800px;height:534px;"/>You drive downtown, past the diner and the pawnshop and the florist. Everything's as quaint as it always is in Storybrooke, Maine.
The car stalls a bit at a stoplight. You put extra pressure on the gas pedal — and accidentally lurch forward, almost hitting the car in front of you.
Your reaction:
[["That was too close. I should have been paying attention."|snap out of it DONE]]
[["I'm sorry, bug!"|don't snap out of it DONE]]You walk in and see that the person you locked in the holding cell last night is still there. You caught the 17-year-old driving his motorcycle well above the speed limit while hammered. You didn't have to breathalyze him. He reeked of gin, a taste for which he inherited from his mother, who's standing in front of the cell lecturing him. <i>Good,</i> you think, <i>he deserves it.</i>
You sit down at your desk and start filling out paperwork while listening to the lecture.
"Really, Fitzgerald, if you were going to steal booze, couldn't it have been your father's whiskey and not my gin?"
<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ca/c5/0e/cac50e26d6873617d7784f715a672b15.jpg" style="width:800px;height:450px;"/>
As local law enforcement, you feel the need to offer commentary. You open your mouth and
[[say, "I'm sorry, did your son age four years overnight? Jail really is as harsh as people say it is."|don't control mouth DONE]]
[[hesitate.|control your mouth DONE]]"I wish I didn't have to be on time today, but I do, babe."
You're sorry, just a little bit, but your partner doesn't hold it against you. "See you tonight, love." One more kiss and you [[leave.|car scene DONE]]"I can stick around for a bit," you say. Your partner grins.
[[You don't regret your decision at all.|afterglow DONE]]There's a spring in your partner's step as you walk outside to the car, a yellow VW Beetle.
<img src="https://data.whicdn.com/images/237898721/large.jpg" style="width:800px;height:528px;"/>
You get in the driver's seat and turn the key. The vehicle sputters. Right, you've been meaning to take it to a mechanic.
Your partner echoes your thoughts. "Shouldn't you get that fixed, love?"
"I'll do it after work. I don't have time to spare before work, thanks to you."
"You're welcome."
"Oh, stop it." You both laugh.
You wonder vaguely why you seem to be backing your car out of a parking space when it was parked against a curb, but your partner has started complaining, as usual, about your music selection.
"I don't understand these DJs, love. They don't play real instruments. They're masquerading as musicians."
"Watch it. We do not talk trash about Marshmello in this house."
"You mean in this car."
"Whatever. My point is..."
You're so busy bickering that you don't see the car [[approaching from the right as you turn left.|outcome 1: crash DONE]]<font face="courier">You didn't take enough opportunities to wake up from your daydreams, so you lost this game. It's not over, though.
[[Here's the thing...|context DONE]]</font>You are sorry, just a little bit, but your partner doesn't hold it against you. "See you tonight, love." One more kiss and you leave.
You walk to where your car, a bright yellow VW Beetle, is parked. It's usually along a curb, but today it's in a parking space. That's odd. Oh, well.
<img src="https://data.whicdn.com/images/237898721/large.jpg" style="width:800px;height:528px;"/>
You get in and turn the key. The vehicle sputters. Right, you've been meaning to take it to a mechanic. You would have enough time to do that and walk the rest of the way to work if you hadn't let your partner delay you. You'll get it taken care of soon enough.
You drive downtown, past the diner and the pawnshop and the florist. Everything's as quaint as it always is in Storybrooke, Maine.
The car stalls a bit at a stoplight. You put extra pressure on the gas pedal — and accidentally lurch forward, almost hitting the car in front of you.
Your reaction:
[["That was too close. I should have been paying attention."|snap out of it DONE]]
[["I'm sorry, bug!"|don't snap out of it DONE]]As you speak, you notice someone else looking at you. Someone you know, but not from here in Storybrooke.
The person clears her throat, and you suddenly know who it is. You pause the argument. Your face burns until the person looks away, and you slowly resume giving Fitz's mother a piece of your mind.
Several minutes later, you get up from your desk and the same someone calls your name. Not "Sheriff Swan," but another name that you've responded to all your life.
[["Can I speak to you for a minute?"|questions DONE]]Your mouth snaps shut. Your eyes feel like they've snapped open, even though they already are.
If you'd said what you wanted to say out loud, an entire classroom of people and a professor you respect would have looking at you like you had a second head.
You're suddenly and acutely aware that you're not the sheriff of a small town in Maine. You don't have a partner. You remember that your car, which is not yellow or a VW Beetle, was parked in your apartment complex parking lot and not along a curb this morning. There's probably a pawnshop in a town heavily populated by college students such as yourself, but you don't know where it is. It's definitely not on your way to class.
Not your job. History class. Not in a police station. In the history building on campus.
You've been mentally absent so far during the review for Thursday's exam. Part of it is short answer. Five questions, ten points each.
[[You do an about-face and force yourself to listen.|outcome 3: wake up DONE]]You take a couple deep breaths to get your heart rate back down. <i>Focus, Sheriff, focus.</i> The title isn't as empowering as it should be.
You keep driving and try not to blink as you notice the buildings on Main Street look different than they just did. Wait, is that a pawnshop or an administrative building of some sort? Is that a diner or a dining hall?
You slow down your thoughts when you get to [[the building you're looking for.|station / classroom DONE]] A familiar car is parked nearby. You sigh because you know who you have to deal with.
<img src="https://i.stack.imgur.com/5sV0N.jpg" style="width:800px;height:534px;"/>The Beetle stalls again as if it's mad at you anyway, but you soon get it to move. Your heart rate goes down to a normal level soon enough.
You drive up to [[the police station|station / classroom DONE]] and see a familiar car parked nearby. You sigh because you know who you have to deal with.
<img src="https://i.stack.imgur.com/5sV0N.jpg" style="width:800px;height:534px;"/>"I'm perfectly fine. I don't always look like it, but I have my act together."
Her skeptical look tells you your words aren't convincing.
"I mean it, I'm OK. I'll try not to talk to myself in class anymore."
You're not talking to yourself, technically, but you don't have to tell anyone that.
"Alright, suit yourself," the professor says. "Hope you'll be ready for the exam on Thursday."
Oh, right, that's happening. Lots of short answer questions. "I will be," you say.
[[Of course you will be, because a good sheriff is ready for anything.|outcome 2: don't learn DONE]]"But maybe I should. I don't know. I do this all the time." You don't mean to ramble, but words just start spilling out. "I know it's not normal. I get why it worries you."
"Does it worry you?"
"Sometimes. But then I start daydreaming again and I forget."
Silence reigns for five seconds. You're acutely aware that you're not the sheriff of a small town in Maine. You don't have a partner. You remember that your car, which is not yellow or a VW Beetle, was parked in your apartment complex parking lot and not along a curb this morning. There's probably a pawnshop in a town heavily populated by college students such as yourself, but you don't know where it is. It's definitely not on your way to class.
Not your job. History class. Not in a police station. In the history building on campus.
"Do you think you'll be ready for the exam on Thursday?" your professor asks.
You nod slowly. You weren't mentally present for today's review, but you can catch up. "The short answer section is five questions, ten points each, [[right?"|outcome 3: wake up DONE]]<font face="courier">Even if it doesn't, you won this game. It's not over, though.
[[Here's the thing...|context DONE]]</font><font face="courier">When your alarm went off this morning, you were already awake. You were so busy daydreaming last night before you went to bed that you can't remember if you even set your alarm. Being late to class would hurt your participation grade, which probably isn't stellar to begin with because as your professor said, you're always drifting off during discussion.
To anyone else, your life seems completely fine. You have good friends, family and mentors. You enjoy your major. You get stressed out sometimes, but that's normal.
Your reaction to stress, or anything you just plain don't like, is not normal. And you've been doing it for the majority of your life, to the point that you daydream even when things are going great.
[[What's going on in your head?|definition DONE]]</font>The impact doesn't cause any physical injury, luckily, but it's enough to make you freeze in terror. This isn't a small fender-bender.
You automatically look to your right. The passenger seat is empty. It was the entire time.
You don't want to get out of the car and see the damage or face the other driver. You know this was your fault because you weren't paying attention. You could afford to get the engine fixed, but you're not sure how you, a college student (it's all coming back to you now), are going to afford this repair job. This stupid car isn't even a VW Beetle.
You're inevitably going to be late for today's history class and miss part of the review for Thursday's exam. So much for doing well on the short answer section.
You've been snapped out of daydreams in the past, but never on this level. You could have avoided this [[and you didn't.|you lose DONE]]You leave the classroom not as Sheriff Swan, but as yourself. Your mind moves with your body. It’s an old, forgotten feeling you’ll have to get used to again. You're fine with that. You're ready to make the abnormal normal again.
You've had wake-up calls before and they've never stuck. [[Here's hoping this one does.|you win DONE]]You leave the room and are mildly offended that anyone would doubt or worry about <b>you</b>, Storybrooke's own Sheriff Swan. Wait until you tell your partner. You'll both have a good laugh.
[[It really is ridiculous.|you lose DONE]]<img src="https://66.media.tumblr.com/34e5bfc29282b8e8052384aa70493658/tumblr_pce631k3Ed1rpuw07o1_500.jpg" style="width:800px;height:896px;"/>
<font face="courier">Maladaptive daydreaming is a psychological concept (not officially categorized as a mental illness) defined as “extensive fantasy activity that replaces human interaction and/or interferes with academic, interpersonal, or vocational functioning.”
Dr. Eli Somer, an Israeli professor of clinical psychology, coined the term in 2002 and <a href"https://www.researchgate.net/publication/226088977_Maladaptive_Daydreaming_A_Qualitative_Inquiry">has researched the condition extensively</a>. Characteristics include obsessive thoughts, lifelong daydreaming and escapism habits, overactive imagination, and distaste for reality.
The subjects of Somer's study developed the condition as a response to being abused. But a person doesn't have to be a victim of anything to develop it. All in all, someone finds fantasy consistently more compelling than reality, makes a home there, and has no desire to leave. And when the desire surfaces, the person looks for a way out and can't find one anywhere.
Fictional characters are often the focus of the daydreams. Sometimes it's real people instead.
Having an imagination is not a bad thing in and of itself. It becomes detrimental when you've done it so intensely for so long that it's your default setting. You're still mostly aware of your surroundings and functioning normally, but your attention span is remarkably short, and you find a way to fit fantasy into every scenario. You often find yourself talking out loud or moving around for no reason. Sometimes you do something dumb like walk into a wall or (rarely) lose focus while driving.
Basically, you feel trapped inside your own brain, but you're conditioned to enjoy it.
[[So who's in control?|control DONE]]</font><font face="courier">Despite what it feels like sometimes, you are.
Slight disclaimer: It's easy to say that when you're playing an online game and not living with the condition. It's easy to say that when the choices are typed out on the screen in front of you. Maladaptive daydreaming makes some decisions because the brain is wired to fantasize.
According to <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/04/when-daydreaming-replaces-real-life/391319/">this article in The Atlantic</a> by a somewhat-erstwhile maladaptive daydreamer, the part of the brain that's particularly active during compulsive daydreaming is the same part that flares up when an alcoholic is shown pictures of a martini.
<i>"The behavior was reinforced, becoming even more pleasurable in a feedback loop, much as you'd see with a drug addict.”</i>
So it's not easy, or at least not simple, to make constructive decisions when all you really want is your next fantasy fix. But it's also not impossible. Drug addicts and alcoholics are still responsible for their own decisions. Otherwise people in recovery wouldn't make the effort to apologize to the people they've hurt.
[[The point is...|fin. DONE]]</font><font face="courier">...maladaptive daydreamers exist. They don't struggle nearly on the same level as people with diagnosible mental disorders. Sometimes they don't struggle at all. But the compulsion is real.
That's something they can at least be sure of when the blurred lines between fiction and nonfiction make everything else seem uncertain.
THE END</font>"Can't I come with you?"
You roll your eyes at your partner as you put your jacket back on. "You came with me twice last week."
"I don't see how that matters."
You look straight into those enchanting eyes and say,
[["Sure, why not?"|bring partner to work DONE]]
[["I have a lot on my plate today. Sorry, babe."|don't bring partner to work DONE]]You don't know how to respectfully say no, so you walk over. Judging by facial expression alone, the words you're about to hear are serious.
"I've noticed you talk to yourself a lot, or at least that's what it looks like," the person says. "Sometimes the talking is accompanied by random hand gestures and facial expressions."
Serious was right. The feeling of embarrassment returns.
"You're worrying me. Are you OK? Do you need to talk to someone, or are you already doing that?"
You're not sure at first what to say. You decide on,
[["No, I'm not."|take teacher seriously DONE]]
[["Why would I need to talk to someone?"|defend yourself DONE]]