As long as I can remember, I have always felt a bit out of place. The realm of daydreams was more familiar and comforting to me than the loud, harsh “real” world.  Imagination was part of my constant reality. It was as if I was immersed in a wonderful story that was interrupted by having to do human things, like eat or sleep. The sleep was fine as long as the dreams were pleasant.  But I often had night terrors. My Mom thought it was just my vivid imagination but the images and feelings would consume me and I’d find myself always running quickly past the dark hallway in our home before something that I felt was present would grab me. I was teased about how sensitive I was and called a cry baby, but I couldn’t control the sudden overwhelming emotions I felt when someone was in pain.  It was usually emotional pain that I somehow shared with them, and oftentimes expressed for them and cry suddenly and uncontrollably in the most random times and places, like school.