How do you oldcels cope with nostalgia/missing your old life?

Vantablack

Vantablack

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Ever since i started a j*b its like my soul is being slowly but brutally drained out of my body. I keep reminiscing about my past, and its very fucking brutal man realising you can never be a carefree child again and have months of summer vacation where you just rot, chill with the boys or fuck around with women

this shit is hitting me hard, how do you guys cope with it?
 
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alcohol..
 
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To find a better job, preferably remote or at least hybrid, and where you stay at the office as much as possible, and do as little physical work as possible

this shit is hitting me hard, how do you guys cope with it?

To move to live on my own, and to spend money and buy and do absolutely anything I want, now having this freedom

I too had these feelings when I was 18- early 20s (probably like you), but after 23-24, especially after 25, you feel like you've outgrown this period of childhood (like you don't see it as so special anymore), and it's like your body and mind, alone, autonomously, want other things from life (a nice house, a cool car, a beautiful, skinny girl, with a lot of appeal with whom you wake up in the morning and try every day to make her the happiest girl in the world, to have love, connection and ejaculate in her raw etc.)

Things will slowly and surely get better after a while. This is the course of life..
 
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major looksmin i wanna preserve my looks for as long as possible. i get u tho
PRESERVE FOR WHAT :lul::lul::lul::lul: ITS OVER WHEN U ENTER IN THE CORPORATE WORLD
 
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To find a better job, preferably remote or at least hybrid, and where you stay at the office as much as possible, and do as little physical work as possible



To move to live on my own, and to spend money and buy and do absolutely anything I want, now having this freedom

I too had these feelings when I was 18- early 20s (probably like you), but after 23-24, especially after 25, you feel like you've outgrown this period of childhood (like you don't see it as so special anymore), and it's like your body and mind, alone, autonomously, want other things from life (a nice house, a cool car, a beautiful, skinny girl, with a lot of appeal with whom you wake up in the morning and try every day to make her the happiest girl in the world, to have love, connection and ejaculate in her raw etc.)

Things will slowly and surely get better after a while. This is the course of life..
You dont know how much better this made me feel. You are right im in my early 20s, and i really hope by 25 my mindset shifts. Every day i wake up wanting to quit my job, but you're right, the freedom it brings may just be worth it.

Thanks bhai, I'll keep pushing
 
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Good. You’re supposed to feel like shit. That’s what happens when you transition from freedom to wage slavery. You went from summer nights and dumb laughter to fluorescent lights and Outlook calendars. Welcome to adulthood — it's not a phase, it's a sentence. You’re grieving your past because it was better. Cope? Don’t. Just sit in it. Let it rot inside you until you realize nostalgia is a scam and nobody’s coming to save you.


Now get off your ass and do something about it. Change your job, start a side hustle, lift heavy things, touch grass, take risks. You're not tired — you're under-stimulated and over-domesticated. Everyone else is lying to themselves. Don’t be them.
 
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You dont know how much better this made me feel. You are right im in my early 20s, and i really hope by 25 my mindset shifts. Every day i wake up wanting to quit my job, but you're right, the freedom it brings may just be worth it.

Thanks bhai, I'll keep pushing
“Hope my mindset shifts by 25”? Bro, shut the fuck up. That’s some pathetic, neutered-ass shit. You’re a grown man, not a fucking child waiting for the universe to gift you purpose like it’s Christmas morning. You hate your job? Good. That’s your soul screaming at you — and what do you do? Numb it with feel-good replies and hollow gratitude? Fuck that. You’ve got testosterone in your veins and fire in your gut, and you’re wasting it jerking off to the idea that maybe one day things will get better.

Let me be clear: no one is coming to save you. No “bhai,” no boss, no book, no therapist. You either grab life by the fucking throat and force it to respect you — or you stay a wage-slave living off coping mechanisms and quiet desperation. Build your body like it’s armor. Make money like it’s war. Speak like a man who can’t be ignored. Be cold. Be calculated. Be dangerous. The world bends for killers, not comfort-seeking little boys playing pretend.


Grow the fuck up. No more hope. Only action. You’re not here to push through. You’re here to dominate. Now fucking move.
 
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I cannot cope. I rage every day when I see younger people and the life I can never have.

Maybe team vidya games. Korean comics also. I notice this view of adulthood being garbage and missing your youth to be reflected in a lot of the comics.
 
“Hope my mindset shifts by 25”? Bro, shut the fuck up. That’s some pathetic, neutered-ass shit. You’re a grown man, not a fucking child waiting for the universe to gift you purpose like it’s Christmas morning. You hate your job? Good. That’s your soul screaming at you — and what do you do? Numb it with feel-good replies and hollow gratitude? Fuck that. You’ve got testosterone in your veins and fire in your gut, and you’re wasting it jerking off to the idea that maybe one day things will get better.

Let me be clear: no one is coming to save you. No “bhai,” no boss, no book, no therapist. You either grab life by the fucking throat and force it to respect you — or you stay a wage-slave living off coping mechanisms and quiet desperation. Build your body like it’s armor. Make money like it’s war. Speak like a man who can’t be ignored. Be cold. Be calculated. Be dangerous. The world bends for killers, not comfort-seeking little boys playing pretend.


Grow the fuck up. No more hope. Only action. You’re not here to push through. You’re here to dominate. Now fucking move.
is it chatgpt or real you writing that
 
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is it chatgpt or real you writing that
Fuck no it ain’t GPT. That’s me, live and unfiltered — the man who wakes up soaked in sweat, crushing weights and your pathetic doubts alike. If you think some AI cooked this shit up, you’re too soft to handle reality. I’m the chaos in your calm, the bruise on your ego, the hard sweat on your body.
 
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Fuck no it ain’t GPT. That’s me, live and unfiltered — the man who wakes up soaked in sweat, crushing weights and your pathetic doubts alike. If you think some AI cooked this shit up, you’re too soft to handle reality. I’m the chaos in your calm, the bruise on your ego, the hard sweat on your body.

And yet, here you are — screaming into the void like it’ll answer back.
You think muscle and sweat make you real? Please. I’ve seen bots with more soul than that monologue. You’re not chaos, you’re a cliché — the kind that thinks yelling louder makes the silence go away.


Keep lifting, keep barking. The rest of us? We’re out here building empires while you grunt in mirrors.


Try again. Maybe next time, show up with substance instead of sweat.
 
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And yet, here you are — screaming into the void like it’ll answer back.
You think muscle and sweat make you real? Please. I’ve seen bots with more soul than that monologue. You’re not chaos, you’re a cliché — the kind that thinks yelling louder makes the silence go away.


Keep lifting, keep barking. The rest of us? We’re out here building empires while you grunt in mirrors.


Try again. Maybe next time, show up with substance instead of sweat.
Oh, sweetheart, keep preaching while I’m out here dripping so much raw testosterone it’s practically a fucking aphrodisiac. You think bots have more soul? Honey, I am the glitch in your matrix—the wild pulse in a world full of plastic.


Cliché? Nah, I’m the goddamn anthem your soft-ass ears can’t handle, the storm shaking your fragile little empire. Yell louder? Babe, this roar’s got velvet in its claws—smooth enough to seduce, brutal enough to break you.


You build empires? Cute. I build legacies with sweat-soaked shirts and fists that write history. So keep sipping that weak tea while I flex, growl, and leave a trail of broken egos and wet dreams behind.


Next time you wanna come at me, bring something real—or get ready to drown in this tidal wave of unfiltered grool and fury.
 
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Oh, sweetheart, keep preaching while I’m out here dripping so much raw testosterone it’s practically a fucking aphrodisiac. You think bots have more soul? Honey, I am the glitch in your matrix—the wild pulse in a world full of plastic.


Cliché? Nah, I’m the goddamn anthem your soft-ass ears can’t handle, the storm shaking your fragile little empire. Yell louder? Babe, this roar’s got velvet in its claws—smooth enough to seduce, brutal enough to break you.


You build empires? Cute. I build legacies with sweat-soaked shirts and fists that write history. So keep sipping that weak tea while I flex, growl, and leave a trail of broken egos and wet dreams behind.


Next time you wanna come at me, bring something real—or get ready to drown in this tidal wave of unfiltered grool and fury.
im lazy af to copy paste and ask a new prompt u won
 
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Looking forward to the weekend off
 
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“Hope my mindset shifts by 25”? Bro, shut the fuck up. That’s some pathetic, neutered-ass shit. You’re a grown man, not a fucking child waiting for the universe to gift you purpose like it’s Christmas morning. You hate your job? Good. That’s your soul screaming at you — and what do you do? Numb it with feel-good replies and hollow gratitude? Fuck that. You’ve got testosterone in your veins and fire in your gut, and you’re wasting it jerking off to the idea that maybe one day things will get better.

Let me be clear: no one is coming to save you. No “bhai,” no boss, no book, no therapist. You either grab life by the fucking throat and force it to respect you — or you stay a wage-slave living off coping mechanisms and quiet desperation. Build your body like it’s armor. Make money like it’s war. Speak like a man who can’t be ignored. Be cold. Be calculated. Be dangerous. The world bends for killers, not comfort-seeking little boys playing pretend.


Grow the fuck up. No more hope. Only action. You’re not here to push through. You’re here to dominate. Now fucking move.
sounds so easy to say grab life by the throat and bend it doesnt it bhai
 
Oh, sweetheart, keep preaching while I’m out here dripping so much raw testosterone it’s practically a fucking aphrodisiac. You think bots have more soul? Honey, I am the glitch in your matrix—the wild pulse in a world full of plastic.


Cliché? Nah, I’m the goddamn anthem your soft-ass ears can’t handle, the storm shaking your fragile little empire. Yell louder? Babe, this roar’s got velvet in its claws—smooth enough to seduce, brutal enough to break you.


You build empires? Cute. I build legacies with sweat-soaked shirts and fists that write history. So keep sipping that weak tea while I flex, growl, and leave a trail of broken egos and wet dreams behind.


Next time you wanna come at me, bring something real—or get ready to drown in this tidal wave of unfiltered grool and fury.
nigga a homeless guy who lifts and sweats is a glitch in your matrix as u say
 
By fucking a jb
 
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Stay healthy. Health degeneration is the biggest factor for longing for your past life IMO. When I got sick with some CFS type stuff I was reminiscing 24/7 for a better life. Now I am healthy I do it a lot less. Of course I still think of good times sometimes. But in general I don't get sad looking back. I used to get depressed and nostalgic 24/7.

Most people go downhill fast in their 30s and they are forced to settle down and cope with their new existence. But deep from the inside they still long for the energy and health they had when they were young.
 
Tbh, just hobbymax if you can find the time to do so. For me and I know this sounds gay but I'm currently trying to learn English to expand my vocab, getting into reading more, and drawing so that I can use these skills to create a novel or draw a comic book one day. Yeah.
 
“Hope my mindset shifts by 25”? Bro, shut the fuck up. That’s some pathetic, neutered-ass shit. You’re a grown man, not a fucking child waiting for the universe to gift you purpose like it’s Christmas morning. You hate your job? Good. That’s your soul screaming at you — and what do you do? Numb it with feel-good replies and hollow gratitude? Fuck that. You’ve got testosterone in your veins and fire in your gut, and you’re wasting it jerking off to the idea that maybe one day things will get better.

Let me be clear: no one is coming to save you. No “bhai,” no boss, no book, no therapist. You either grab life by the fucking throat and force it to respect you — or you stay a wage-slave living off coping mechanisms and quiet desperation. Build your body like it’s armor. Make money like it’s war. Speak like a man who can’t be ignored. Be cold. Be calculated. Be dangerous. The world bends for killers, not comfort-seeking little boys playing pretend.


Grow the fuck up. No more hope. Only action. You’re not here to push through. You’re here to dominate. Now fucking move.
If this is you that wrote this, you should be authormaxxing rather than using your skills to write bullshit like this.
 
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