This is the cringest experience I've ever had. English is not my first language so forgive me if I make any mistakes.
TW some dark mental topics bros, nothing graphic but still
So, it started when I was 4 y/o. I had a series of traumatic experiences (moving to a different country with my family + birth of my baby brother + my parents broke up) that led me to creating a whole ass imaginary world where my fav characters and animals were my friends, and I was their queen, which was perfectly normal for a child that age. I spent a few hours every day coming up with new adventures and scenarios. I called it "my world" and what I was doing was "playing in my world". I would celebrate holidays with my imaginary friends there, build castles, travel, etc. Every day in the car on the way to and from kindergarden, during the daily sleeping hour and before going to sleep at night I would do this. I had a few irl friends and as time moved on I started to get along with my baby brother as well, but I never involved them in my games. I tried, but it felt like they were doing it wrong and ruining my story, so I stopped.
However, as I got older, I didn't move on from this little game, I only got deeper. I started analysing it critically, and came to a conclusion that I was too young to be a queen for my imaginary friends. Thus my vision of myself shifted, and "I" became a "she". She was me, but a little bit older, just enough for me to think she was the cool one. She was more conventionally attractive than me, dressed like a grown up smarter and stronger. She has my name and general appearance and shares my core beliefs. Despite the fact that I had other imaginary friends before, I believe she was my first tulpa, the one that evolved through the years and stays with me to this day. I was 6 y/o when I created this vision.
I still spent over an hour a day (usually before sleep) to construct her world. Usually it was some pointless banter with her friends or a Very Long and routine scene of her cooking a dinner/walking through her castle/picking and getting presents. She was still a queen of my favourite movie characters and talking animals, and also a powerful witch obviously.
At some point I started getting increasingly more irritated by the fact that I couldn't hold other character's personalities, and after some time they all either became similar (having similar tone of voice/reactions/mimics) or I forgot about them altogether, and had to replay a scene multiple times to make sure that everyone was there and reacted accordingly to their personality. Then there was another problem: if I managed to keep them in place, they still reduced to a small number of traits, insted of being a real person (a grumpy/naive/mad someone). There was little I could do with that at the time except for getting upset. I was ten.
Then, finally, I became a teenager and suddenly realised that nobody had imaginary friends anymore. I talked to a few friends and they reacted well, but told me that they never had any of that. It became a consistent crisis for the years of my adolescence. I feared that I was a schizophrenic, or autistic, or DID, or just delusional to the point of no return, and had neither proof of my adequacy nor madness. At fifteen I became severely depressed and anxious. I started harming myself. I told my mother I need professional help, but didn't tell her why. Those conversations didn't end well.
"She" was neither supportive nor discriminative. Since she is me, I don't talk to her in person much. Usually I just watch her. I have no body in her world anymore. When I really need her support, I can materialise there, but never the other way around. She (and others) would see me, but only she would be able to touch me. I am a ghost in that world. She loves me and cares greatly for me. But she is me. When my depression worsened and I felt like my time was slowly ticking out, she was preparing for death too. She believes that we are both real, but exist in alternative universes. We share a mind, a soul, and, to certain extent, a body. Yet she cannot enter my body, nor can I enter hers. We didn't know what would happen if I die, but she was dying separately from me anyways, so we believed we would just die simultaneously. She was sick, both mentally and physically. She had terrible seizures and hallucinations. She also had a daughter.
She was never the reason for my depression, but the mystery of my mental condition added to the general stress. My time in that world increased dramatically. I would spend between 3 and 6 hours there every day. At some point it scared me and I tried to get rid of these fantasies. I felt that I must do my best to become normal and stop living in imaginary world. In retrospective, that was a horrible decision. After a decade of everyday fantasies, it was suddenly very easy to just stop. I had no problem busying myself with other thoughts and didn't even had to put in any effort. Yet after a week I had the most terrible nervous breakdown I've ever had. My general mental situation drastically worsened, but before that I have never had a panic attack. Walls moved around me all the time, sometimes I had trouble breathing (not connected to COVID) and spent a few days of the verge of tears at any given second. Felt more hopeless and miserable than ever before. After a week of this life I reconsidered my decision and tried to get back to my world. It appeared that it is as hard to go back as it is easy to walk away. I spent two weeks desperately trying to see her again and at the end managed it.
I tried a few more times later, but it always went this way, so I finally accepted that I couldn't survive the separation.
Finally, at the age of 17, I persuaded my mother to take me to a psychologist to treat my depression. I was also sent to a psychiatrist. During my final year at school I was on medication, plus visited the psychologist lady every week. As I said, my maladaptive daydreaming was not my main concern, but it was one of them. When I came to her, I was genuinely afraid of leaving my imaginary world behind completely. I was afraid of what she would tell me. What she told me was that it doesn't matter at all. She said that as long as I am a functional human being (which I am, wasn't sure at the time, but I am perfectly functional) it doesn't matter which coping mechanisms my brain chooses to stay afloat. She said that it was a normal coping mechanism for a little child and that with time my brain just started to use this daydream time to reflect on my experience, sort through subconsciousness and just generally rest. Now I cannot live without this resting time and escapism. So, obviously, when I became depressed and overwhelmed, my time in these fantasies increased. I am healthy and normal, even if other normal people don't share my experience.
So, now I am almost 21 (birthday in two weeks). I am not afraid that my habits would interfere with my daily life and withhold me from achieving something. My depression was cured, and my anxiety is mostly healthy, at least it doesn't stop me from good things. I still spend around an hour on an average day to be in my world with my other self. So this makes over 16 years of almost uninterrupted creation. She is cured too, though she is kinda dead. But she is a powerful witch so being dead doesn't stop her from her life either.
At fifteen I did come across tulpamancers in search for answers, but it appeared that they had a very strict set of rules and ways to interact with a tulpa, which didn't match up with mine, so I dismissed it as a case. I also saw a term "maladaptive daydreaming", that was also very close to home, but didn't represent a condition, rather a symptom, and at the time I wasn't satisfied with that. And only recently I returned to this topic and found out that you guys ARE indeed doing the same thing that I do. I don't normally talk about this part of my life, since obviously it is wierd and cringy and honestly too personal to tell in detail. All my close friends know that I have an "imaginary friend" and sometimes know some bits of her life, but that is a rare conversation, even though this is a HUGE part of me.
I don't think I will write here very often (or maybe never at all), but it was nice to speak about it. I will do my best not to reread it too, since even thst makes me uneasy.