Dear Diary - Me, the Savior

Dear Diary

I think there may be something a bit wrong with me.

I keep fantasizing about saving people, about being the hero.

In real life I'm walking between buildings to a meeting but, in my head...

I'm at a company presentation, I'm in the third row and only I, insightful empath that I am, can see that the CEO is struggling, that he's mispronounced three words now, and that he's starting to sweat.

So I stand up and hurry to the podium, as if I have an urgent message for him. I pass him a note that reads "Pretend there is a crisis and you have to leave with me, right NOW!"

He nods, turns and mumbles an apology to the audience, hands over to the CIO and follows me off the stage.

As we're walking up the side aisle I shoot a meaningful glare at a colleague who I know has first aid training, and he scampers after us.

Once we get to the auditorium door, out of sight, I give the CEO my arm and he leans heavily on it. We go to a conference room and close the door and I step back, allowing my colleague to take over as I discreetly call an ambulance.

Now where the hell does this kind of fantasy come from?

Is it schadenfreude?

Do I subconsciously think people will like me if I save them?

Why don't I dream of being on holiday on a tropical island, sipping a cocktail from a hollowed out pineapple?  Or about driving a red vintage Mercedes convertible on those winding roads above Monaco, hair wrapped in a silk scarf, cornering perfectly? Or even Taylor Kitsch, a hot tub, an empty bottle of champagne and a delicious lapse in our mutual sense of propriety?

Hey!  How about a dream about winning the lottery and hitting Nordstrom so hard the window displays fall victim to spontaneous combustion?

No.  

I have a savior complex.

You see. dear Diary?

This is why I stay in therapy.

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