larox.psl
Bronze
- Joined
- Oct 22, 2024
- Posts
- 455
- Reputation
- 617
I used to have goals. I used to care. I used to think that if I pushed hard enough, if I optimized every little thing—my face, my body, my presence—I could become something. Maybe Rich. Maybe even someone worth noticing.
But now? I don’t even want that. I don’t want anything. It’s not that I failed. It’s not that I couldn’t reach my ideal. It’s that somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing the point. My ambitions, my desires, my drive—all of it just vanished. One day, I woke up and realized that I don’t actually want to be here. Not in a dramatic, crying-out-for-help way. Just in a detached, matter-of-fact way. Like a machine that’s still running long after it stopped having any function.
I used to think that self-improvement would give me purpose. That if I could just get a little bit better—more money,more muscles, more status,more leaner—then maybe I’d feel something. But now, even the thought of improvement feels pointless. Who am I even doing it for? A world that wouldn’t care if I disappeared? A version of myself that I no longer recognize?
I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel angry. I don’t feel anything. It’s like my body is still here, going through the motions, but my soul packed up and left a long time ago. My grandma tells me to find meaning, to chase something, to keep going. But for what? To play a game I no longer care about?
If I died right now, nothing would change. The world would keep spinning, people would keep living, and I wouldn’t even be a footnote in anyone’s memory. I could vanish into thin air, and the universe wouldn’t even blink.
Maybe I burned too bright, too fast. Maybe I was never meant to be anything. Or maybe life itself is just a joke, and I finally understood the punchline.
You either die chasing a dream, or you live long enough to realize dreams were never real to begin with.
And the funniest part?Im not even fucking 18 yet.Life is already over before it even began.
I know that some of you feel the same way
We need lifefuel.
But now? I don’t even want that. I don’t want anything. It’s not that I failed. It’s not that I couldn’t reach my ideal. It’s that somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing the point. My ambitions, my desires, my drive—all of it just vanished. One day, I woke up and realized that I don’t actually want to be here. Not in a dramatic, crying-out-for-help way. Just in a detached, matter-of-fact way. Like a machine that’s still running long after it stopped having any function.
I used to think that self-improvement would give me purpose. That if I could just get a little bit better—more money,more muscles, more status,more leaner—then maybe I’d feel something. But now, even the thought of improvement feels pointless. Who am I even doing it for? A world that wouldn’t care if I disappeared? A version of myself that I no longer recognize?
I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel angry. I don’t feel anything. It’s like my body is still here, going through the motions, but my soul packed up and left a long time ago. My grandma tells me to find meaning, to chase something, to keep going. But for what? To play a game I no longer care about?
If I died right now, nothing would change. The world would keep spinning, people would keep living, and I wouldn’t even be a footnote in anyone’s memory. I could vanish into thin air, and the universe wouldn’t even blink.
Maybe I burned too bright, too fast. Maybe I was never meant to be anything. Or maybe life itself is just a joke, and I finally understood the punchline.
You either die chasing a dream, or you live long enough to realize dreams were never real to begin with.
And the funniest part?Im not even fucking 18 yet.Life is already over before it even began.
I know that some of you feel the same way
We need lifefuel.