I am the only real one no one else is real they are only a projection of my imagination.

[vrilmaxxer]

Everyone else is fake. I cannot confirm that they are real. Nothing fees real. How did I get here. I wake and go to school everyday and the cycle repeats. Everyone on around me feels to shallow and lack uniqueness. The only real answer is that I am the only real one everyone around me is fake including the people on this forum.

 

[Deleted member 40260]

Typa shit I've been on lately

 

[novanova123]

Everyone else is fake. I cannot confirm that they are real. Nothing fees real. How did I get here. I wake and go to school everyday and the cycle repeats. Everyone on around me feels to shallow and lack uniqueness. The only real answer is that I am the only real one everyone around me is fake including the people on this forum.

lmao ur not the main character fag wake up from ur dream i mog u to oblivion

 

[kofun]

No, that position would be me. As I move through the stage of life, I realize that every interaction, every face in the crowd, is but a figment of my creative consciousness. The echoes of laughter, the whispers of conversation—they are the reverberations of my own mind, painting the canvas of existence with the strokes of my perception.

In this solipsistic symphony, I am the conductor orchestrating the melodies of existence. The sun rises at my command, casting its golden hues upon the stage. The wind whispers the verses I've penned, and the rain weeps the tears I've scripted for the world.

Yet, amidst the illusion, a profound loneliness creeps in. For if I am the sole architect of reality, who is there to share in the marvels I've conjured? The paradox of being the only real one in a world of imagined entities leaves me yearning for a connection that transcends the boundaries of my own creation.

And so, I navigate this surreal landscape, a maestro of my own making, hoping to stumble upon a genuine moment that defies the confines of my solipsistic script—a moment that whispers, perhaps, there's more to this reality than the confines of my imagination.

 

[Crayola CØck]

Nah because I'm right here aware and reading your stupid shit, nigga.

 

[Whatashame]

Everyone else is fake. I cannot confirm that they are real. Nothing fees real. How did I get here. I wake and go to school everyday and the cycle repeats. Everyone on around me feels to shallow and lack uniqueness. The only real answer is that I am the only real one everyone around me is fake including the people on this forum.

a generation built on individualism and the belief they they are born as unique individuals who can do anything transform all those healthy kids into vain people who think they r superior

 

[vrilmaxxer]

a generation built on individualism and the belief they they are born as unique individuals who can do anything transform all those healthy kids into vain people who think they r superior

holy fuck i just hyper cringed please commit suicide

 

[vrilmaxxer]

Nah because I'm right here aware and reading your stupid shit, nigga.

thats what you want me to believe

 

[vrilmaxxer]

No, that position would be me. As I move through the stage of life, I realize that every interaction, every face in the crowd, is but a figment of my creative consciousness. The echoes of laughter, the whispers of conversation—they are the reverberations of my own mind, painting the canvas of existence with the strokes of my perception.

In this solipsistic symphony, I am the conductor orchestrating the melodies of existence. The sun rises at my command, casting its golden hues upon the stage. The wind whispers the verses I've penned, and the rain weeps the tears I've scripted for the world.

Yet, amidst the illusion, a profound loneliness creeps in. For if I am the sole architect of reality, who is there to share in the marvels I've conjured? The paradox of being the only real one in a world of imagined entities leaves me yearning for a connection that transcends the boundaries of my own creation.

And so, I navigate this surreal landscape, a maestro of my own making, hoping to stumble upon a genuine moment that defies the confines of my solipsistic script—a moment that whispers, perhaps, there's more to this reality than the confines of my imagination.

saved, good read

 

[Whatashame]

holy fuck i just hyper cringed please commit suicide

holy fuck i just hyper cringed please commit suicide

its fun you say that when you do such a thread. I dont even need to say that to you cause thats probab gonna happen anyway

 

[finn899]

its fun you say that when you do such a thread. I dont even need to say that to you cause thats probab gonna happen anyway

derealisation is bad when nothing feels real its a problem,i got it too

 

[inwardgonionscel]

No, that position would be me. As I move through the stage of life, I realize that every interaction, every face in the crowd, is but a figment of my creative consciousness. The echoes of laughter, the whispers of conversation—they are the reverberations of my own mind, painting the canvas of existence with the strokes of my perception.

In this solipsistic symphony, I am the conductor orchestrating the melodies of existence. The sun rises at my command, casting its golden hues upon the stage. The wind whispers the verses I've penned, and the rain weeps the tears I've scripted for the world.

Yet, amidst the illusion, a profound loneliness creeps in. For if I am the sole architect of reality, who is there to share in the marvels I've conjured? The paradox of being the only real one in a world of imagined entities leaves me yearning for a connection that transcends the boundaries of my own creation.

And so, I navigate this surreal landscape, a maestro of my own making, hoping to stumble upon a genuine moment that defies the confines of my solipsistic script—a moment that whispers, perhaps, there's more to this reality than the confines of my imagination.

Real