It is not crazy to have fantasies. It is crazy to expect them to come true without repercussions in the real world. I have always known this, even though people with bipolar disorder are notorious for pursuing fantasies with a naive manic glow.
I said it in a poem once, and the line is still true: I do not want what I want. We do not want what we want. Every fantasy has a dark side: Winning large amounts of money results in either a mad splurge where all the money is spent, or distrustful conservatism. An affair with a media star results in disillusionment and the dissolution of other romantic relationships.
But oh, the fantasies (if you recognize them as such) are glorious!
My real life self is pragmatic, dealing with what is; my fantasy self is much more daring. My real self is more compassionate toward others; my fantasy self is somewhat narcissistic, doing what she wants without minding consequences. I like my real life self better, but my fantasy self makes for better stories.
My fantasies help me write about other people and other situations that become a short story or novel. To do this, it’s necessary to step out of the story, to not be the protagonist. To let the fantasy take wing in a character’s life, a person whose circumstances mitigate some of the consequences, or who rise above the consequences and become someone new.
Words Like Me 