u/agoodtime3533

i just feel like life will always be faster than me. life keeps moving, but i do not. life moves, but i am still. i do not move with it. it passes me by. i am still. i am stagnant. i have left myself behind. days just pass, and pass, and pass. i don’t live them. i don’t know how to start living.

i wonder if i will ever catch up

i wonder if i will ever start living

i wonder if i will ever feel alive

i don’t know why i’m like this. i don’t know what’s so wrong with me. i don’t know what i’m missing

but i am missing

“I'm like if a missing person was literally right there”, or something

it feels like at some point, probably years ago now, i just left myself behind

i just feel like life will always be faster than me. life keeps moving, but i do not. life moves, but i am still. i do not move with it. it passes me by. i am still. i am stagnant. i have left myself behind. days just pass, and pass, and pass. i don’t live them. i don’t know how to start living.

i wonder if i will ever catch up

i wonder if i will ever start living

i wonder if i will ever feel alive

i don’t know why i’m like this. i don’t know what’s so wrong with me. i don’t know what i’m missing

but i am missing

“I'm like if a missing person was literally right there”, or something

it feels like at some point, probably years ago now, i just left myself behind

i just feel like life will always be faster than me. life keeps moving, but i do not. life moves, but i am still. i do not move with it. it passes me by. i am still. i am stagnant. i have left myself behind. days just pass, and pass, and pass. i don’t live them. i don’t know how to start living.

i wonder if i will ever catch up

i wonder if i will ever start living

i wonder if i will ever feel alive

i don’t know why i’m like this. i don’t know what’s so wrong with me. i don’t know what i’m missing

but i am missing

“I'm like if a missing person was literally right there”, or something

it feels like at some point, probably years ago now, i just left myself behind

I don't feel like I am a real person, really. I feel entirely separated from all other people. Like everyone else is a real person except for me

I have felt for a long time that I must simply lack some essential, core part of the self or soul that makes one a truly whole, real person. The more I look back, the more I start to doubt that I ever WAS a real person 'before' this.

I feel underdeveloped in some crucial, internal, unknown way

I feel that I lack personhood.

and I don't know how to find it.

And no one ever understands what I mean.

I don't feel like I am a real person, really. I feel entirely separated from all other people. Like everyone else is a real person except for me

I have felt for a long time that I must simply lack some essential, core part of the self or soul that makes one a truly whole, real person. The more I look back, the more I start to doubt that I ever WAS a real person 'before' this.

I feel underdeveloped in some crucial, internal, unknown way

I feel that I lack personhood.

and I don't know how to find it.

And no one ever understands what I mean.

I don't feel like I am a real person, really. I feel entirely separated from all other people. Like everyone else is a real person except for me

I have felt for a long time that I must simply lack some essential, core part of the self or soul that makes one a truly whole, real person. The more I look back, the more I start to doubt that I ever WAS a real person 'before' this.

I feel underdeveloped in some crucial, internal, unknown way

I feel that I lack personhood.

and I don't know how to find it.

And no one ever understands what I mean.

I don't feel like I am a real person, really. I feel entirely separated from all other people. Like everyone else is a real person except for me

I have felt for a long time that I must simply lack some essential, core part of the self or soul that makes one a truly whole, real person. The more I look back, the more I start to doubt that I ever WAS a real person 'before' this.

I feel underdeveloped in some crucial, internal, unknown way

I feel that I lack personhood.

and I don't know how to find it.

And no one ever understands what I mean.

(DPDR)

I don’t feel like I am a real person, really. I feel entirely separated from all other people. Like everyone else is a real person except for me

I have felt for a long time that I must simply lack some essential, core part of the self or soul that makes one a truly whole, real person. The more I look back, the more I start to doubt that I ever WAS a real person ‘before’ this.

I feel underdeveloped in some crucial, internal, unknown way

I feel that I lack personhood.

and I don’t know how to find it.

And no one ever understands what I mean.

It’s literally covered in mold. It looks like Chernobyl. We are all begging him to do something about it but he refuses because he is MOLDMAXXING. I think I started yelling at him and woke myself up lol

*NO LIBERALS OR AMERICAN SUPREMACISTS. PLEASE. For the love of god. Do not recommend me someone who has defended American Democrats, the American military/soldiers/veterans, or Graham Platner for even 2 seconds. PLEASE. I want to hear from principled, uncompromised & uncompromising people. I want to hear from people who ARE NOT SO WEAK ON AMERICA.

Thank you! 🙏

EDIT: Thank you to everyone who gave recommendations! And Sorry to everyone who cannot tolerate criticism of creators that they like…! If you like someone, good for you. But no one is above criticism, and you don’t have to take it personally, either. We don’t have to watch/consume all the same content. People have different standards—or even just different tastes—& that’s okay lol. I’m not gonna defend any creator I ‘like’ very hard because I know no one I watch is above criticism. If you want to respond to what I say, why not just do so, instead of downvoting ? I’m open to hearing more, but I think it’s silly to simply downvote when you could actually engage. I respect people’s opinions on creators because I want to give them grace — not everyone (no one!) knows everything & I don’t expect them to. I would like to be given the same grace. Thanks!

I keep having dreams where I randomly run into my Jiddo. He’s usually with someone else. I can talk to the other people—usually my dad or uncle (his sons)—but I don’t touch them. I don’t talk to my Jiddo… he passed from oral cancer, and couldn’t talk for a while before then… but I can touch him. I can hold his hand, and hug him. Sometimes the others can see him—and they’re always nonchalant about it—and other times they cannot. When I hold him I always start to cry

The most recent one — I was in a grocery store with my mom and brothers. We ran into my dad and my uncle unexpectedly; I guess both of them were just there to shop at the same time—my dad was picking something up on his lunch break, and my uncle just happened to be there, too. We were waving at them… but I was looking at my Jiddo, who stood behind my uncle. I couldn’t tell if my uncle knew he was there or not. I remember thinking… why is he there? Can anyone else see him…? Why are they acting so normally… did they forget that he died? Do they see him like this all the time?

I walked up to him and I was already crying. I was so happy to see him and so sad at the same time. I didn’t know whether he’d really be there, or simply an apparition. But when I got to him, I couldn’t tell touch him. He felt the same. I hugged him. He’s so much taller than me, and I rested my head on his belly. I think I must’ve been a different height in my dream… I would’ve surely reached his chest today, but he passed when I was 11–8 years ago—and at the time I couldn’t reach that far. He smelled the same. I was crying and he was hugging me back. I was so happy to see him.

I don’t know if I was physically crying, even though it felt the same… because when I turned to look at my uncle, my face was suddenly dry again. I don’t think I said anything… I just looked at my dad and uncle and the rest of my family. I was trying to gauge if they could see him or not. Everyone was neutral. I looked at my dad and uncle, bewildered. I tried to show my question on my face. They said nothing, but my uncle gave a small nod. I felt like that confirmed that they could see him, too—this must’ve been normal for them. But my Jiddo didn’t interact with anyone else… we held hands throughout the store. Eventually I let go, because me and my mom/brothers had checked out and were leaving. I walked slower than them. My uncle walked out as we were getting our groceries in the car… and sure enough, my Jiddo kept following close behind him. I couldn’t just let them leave. I ran up to him and hugged him again. I held on so tightly and just sobbed. I had to break away after a while — we had to leave. But no one questioned me, or him. They all just… understood what was happening. And then I woke up

I never dream about my great grandpa, who passed two years before my Jiddo did. I never dream about my great grandma, who I was much closer to, and who passed only a few years ago. My Jiddo passed 8 years ago. And it’s odd… I was never really that close to him. At least, I didn’t feel that way… we didn’t see him or my Sitti all that often… it was always clear that my uncle and his family (/my 2 cousins) spent much more time with them than me and my brothers/family ever did. For that, I still feel guilty. I was his second grandchild of five. His second granddaughter. Maybe I’m happy that he knew me for the first 11 years of my life, if anything — I was a better person, then. I would’ve been ashamed if he had known me when I got older. I don’t remember much of my early—mid teenage years. Sometimes, I still feel like a kid who hasn’t begun to live yet—even though I’m nearly 20 now. Hard to believe.

When he passed, I guess it spot a sweet spot in my life. I wasn’t young enough that I don’t remember him, but I was old enough to regret not spending more time with him while he was here. I know that he loved me. I can feel that he loved me in these dreams. And I’ve been agnostic for a long time… but sometimes I wonder if, from wherever he is now, they’re also his way of showing me that he knows that I loved him, too. That I can see him, and hold him… show him that I loved him and that I’m sorry we weren’t so close… and say all of the things that my child self never got the chance to.

It all progressed quite suddenly. I visited him once in hospice before he passed. I’ll never forget the way his hands felt. How I held his hand with both of mine and his cold thumb gently caressed my small palm. I know that he loved me. I know that I loved him, because I cry whenever I remember this feeling. He was a good man. He was a good grandfather. We often regret not being closer to those we love before they leave. I was just a kid. He wouldn’t want me to feel guilty. I was his grandbaby.