It's still hard to accept that I'm not special.

anon1822

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Even lately, the universe proves to me that I am not special. That just because I believe in myself or that it's me doing something, reality is unflinching and uncaring, the chances for success are not increased just because it's me doing it.

And it's an eerie kind of feeling. I think we're all a bit solipsistic and narcissistic. We all see ourselves as the main character of our universe. Even if we have low self-esteem and think we aren't worth shit, deep down I think we all sort of believe that we're the protagonists, we're special.

But reality is so unbending. It's almost surreal how objective reality is, it just doesn't care about your delusions at all.

And even after so much time, so much depression and failures and shit, I still see myself as special. And yet, day after day, reality just loves to prove that wrong.

I guess this twisted belief that I am special has taken a weird turn. Since obviously I'm not special in this life, now I'm imagining that maybe after death or some day I'll wake up and I'll look around and be somewhere else, and there's people around me and they're like "hehe, welcome back. That was a weird trip/simulation/dream you were in. Did you like it? Well, you'll tell us all about it later, welcome back, we missed you."

I don't like not being special. This reality is big and cold and scary. It's so comfy to think that you are special. It sort of numbs that part of the brain that thinks about existential issues and the cold harsh truth of life and death. And it numbs all the negative emotions and anxieties too. But once you accept that you're not special, suddenly all these regrets and fears start creeping up. All the missed years and mistakes and failures blast you with their realness.
 

anon1822

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All we can do is cope or rope.
Guess that's why the years keep flying by while I'm numb and coping all day. One minute of not coping, one minute of stopping my escapism and the coldness of reality makes me almost nauseous. Can't think about my real life, hurts. All that I've done, all that I haven't done. It's overwhelming.
 

Atila

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