Everyone has their own way of coping with their problems. Some people smoke, other drink, while some other sleep around. I even know a guy who loved to drive to a coffee shop miles away from his office and home every day, just to sit, work, and see random people in the cafe to cope with whatever he’s feeling at the time.
I also have my own way of coping with my problems. Something other people might find weird, a bit too complicated, or even a borderline criminal act.
Simply said, my coping mechanism is making up stories. Not as simple as writing something and posting it online. I make up stories of my life, find someone new — usually, a girl that’s also struggling with their problems, build connection, and leave once I got what I want.
You might think I’m a jerk now, but I don’t literally take what I want. I didn’t steal anything material from them, and God forbid, I certainly didn’t steal their heart. I’m not that good with hearts.
And before you think of anything dirty, the answer is no, I didn’t sleep with them. Well … not with most of them.
The best thing about my coping mechanism is, it forces me to do well. A lot of the fake versions of me has something to do with success, even only a glimpse of it. And believe it or not, I managed to achieve most of them in my fake life.
Once, I told a girl I’m a freelance writer, and one of my clients was one of the major media in the country. Of course, that was a lie. But I need to make that lie as real as possible, so in the end, I learned how to write better, pitch dozens of my writing to that publication, and finally got something published.
I ended the parade by telling that girl to check out that day’s paper and read my article. After that, I ghosted her. I’ve taken enough. I’ve taken her time, attention, and some ideologies she resisted before she read my piece on the paper.
On another occasion, I pretended to be a shop owner. I was pretty impulsive and was unprepared with that plan. Beginner’s mistake. Thankfully, we have too many online shops now. So, all I have to do was created a shop in one e-commerce site. Then sell a thousand units of paperbacks in a month. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, but hey, I gotta make the fake story as believable as possible.
So there’s that about the stories I’ve made about myself just to cope. It has to be fake, it has to be told to a woman, it has to be so believable you won’t be able to differentiate whether it’s a fact or fiction.
“What about now? Are you currently working on another story of fake life too?” the girl that’s sitting with me in the coffee shop asked.
Well, did you believe the things I told you just now? If yes, then I have achieved what I want. The deed is done.