[0:15]Have you ever flown so high inside your head?
[0:23]That the day's already gone before you left your bed. In your mind you're changing history, shaking every stage, collecting trophies, counting millions, turning every page. You're saving nations, building empires overnight, giving ted talks, winning Oscars underneath the spotlight. But somehow getting up to wash a single dish feels harder than becoming everything you wish. That's maladaptive day dreaming, the cleanest drug you'll ever find. No smell, no needle, no dealer, just a prison built inside your mind.
[1:23]I drift away when nothing hurts. When nothing needs to be done. Where every step's a victory and every race is won. While lying half awake at night, wrapped up inside my head. The real world waits beside the bed, while another day drops dead. Three dirty plates have sat for days beside the sink, but in my fantasy, I'm giving Nobel speeches with a drink. Crowds are standing, people crying, every headline screams my name, meanwhile there's a cockroach in the kitchen, who's the only fan that came. I open Excel at work. A hundred reports overdue. Three minutes later, Tucker Carlson's interviewing me on CNN news. He's amazed by my success, my company's conquered the globe. My boss is yelling, "Where's the spreadsheet?" And I'm still staring into space at home.
[2:44]I want a perfect body. I see the trophy, hear the cheers. This bikini on a beach somewhere, the culmination of my years. Reality, a bag of chips, a growing stomach, zero gains competing only in the category. Buddha, who never trains. Someone taps me, "Hey!" And I've already planned the wedding day. The honeymoon, the golden years, the matching graves along the way. I leave to take the trash outside then save the planet in my brain. Come back holding the same damn bag, lost in another movie again. These fantasies are cocaine, invisible and clean, a private movie theater where I'm the star of every scene. You run into imagination because reality can sting, believing somewhere else exists the life that fixes everything. But another day evaporates, another hour disappears. You fed your ghost and starved your life for comfort manufactured here. Reality is harder, but it's the only place that's real. Wake up from the fantasy, come back and learn to feel. And when the dream finally breaks, my ego takes the wheel, demanding life become a fairy tale, to validate how I feel. I expect recovery meetings to be filled with saints and sages, while I arrive completely broken, dragging all my own damn baggage. Did one good thing. Now I want applause, a standing ovation. To the exhausted cashier, who owes me a smile. Because I existed in her view. Friend didn't answer one phone call. Clearly trust has died. Meanwhile, he's just taking a shower and my ego's crucified. Bought a gift, made a post, expected fireworks and praise. Got one dry thanks. Now somehow that's the darkest tragedy of my days. Even a cat choosing a cardboard box over an expensive toy becomes proof the universe exists specifically to annoy. I pray to God and secretly think he owes me interest on my pain, waiting for dividends from kindness, like heaven runs a bank. At the gym I wait for strangers to admire me somehow. But everyone's busy looking at themselves. Same as me right now. You recover from this. The same way you recover from any addiction. You admit the movie isn't real. It's an escape. You stay inside your body, inside today, inside uncomfortable feelings. Wash the dish. Call a real person. Stop managing everybody else's life. Drop the expectations. Reality isn't the punishment. Reality is where life happens.
