Deleted member 8353
Former Hikikomori, Aimless Pleasure Seeker
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- Joined
- May 29, 2018
- Posts
- 9,580
- Online
- 66d 3h 29m
It's as if I'm watching other people play a game and I wasn't chosen to be a participant, or I'm surrounded by a cage of reinforced glass which I can't escape. To alleviate boredom and to avoid losing my mind, I invent stories for myself where I can play whatever role I wish, and create "people" who are no more than one dimensional concepts designed for the sole purpose of fulfilling an emotional need. Time passes, and I get to observe as seemingly everyone else experiences what I can only reach within my own fantasies. I age, but I don't feel any older than a child, and others seem to be moving further and further away.
I'm not sure whether or not life feels like this for others, but it certainly does for me. I often wonder if the connections people supposedly create with each other are any more real than those I create within my own mind. At the end of the day, it seems as though humans are only capable of viewing projections or ideas of other people which are constructed entirely by the individual perceiving them. Sure you can see them, feel them, hear them, but are you really perceiving them? I don't believe this is the case. Do you think of your face as yourself? How about your body? These are objects which we feel belong to us, but they aren't us, they're not what we're referring to when we say I. What we mean is our thoughts, our sensory information, and perhaps most of all, the collection of experiences accumulated throughout our lives. If anything, it's probably most accurate to say that we are the experiences themselves, and that the idea of "I" can only ever be known to ourselves. That we are closed systems incapable of truly knowing or understanding each other, and we go through life simply acting out the notion of what it is to be an individual.
I ask myself, "am I alive" and "am I real" fairly often. When I think about my past, I can remember it, but the experiences don't entirely feel like they're my own. I visualize the memories fairly well, I might remember a person looking towards me and speaking, but it doesn't really feel like they're talking to me. It's as if these memories belong to another person, and I've somehow stolen his body. While I recall the goals and ideas about the world that I used to hold, it's very few which don't feel entirely divorced from me.
Maybe the long term isolation is really starting to get to me, I'm questioning if I've been slowly beginning to go insane for the past couple of years.
I'm not sure whether or not life feels like this for others, but it certainly does for me. I often wonder if the connections people supposedly create with each other are any more real than those I create within my own mind. At the end of the day, it seems as though humans are only capable of viewing projections or ideas of other people which are constructed entirely by the individual perceiving them. Sure you can see them, feel them, hear them, but are you really perceiving them? I don't believe this is the case. Do you think of your face as yourself? How about your body? These are objects which we feel belong to us, but they aren't us, they're not what we're referring to when we say I. What we mean is our thoughts, our sensory information, and perhaps most of all, the collection of experiences accumulated throughout our lives. If anything, it's probably most accurate to say that we are the experiences themselves, and that the idea of "I" can only ever be known to ourselves. That we are closed systems incapable of truly knowing or understanding each other, and we go through life simply acting out the notion of what it is to be an individual.
I ask myself, "am I alive" and "am I real" fairly often. When I think about my past, I can remember it, but the experiences don't entirely feel like they're my own. I visualize the memories fairly well, I might remember a person looking towards me and speaking, but it doesn't really feel like they're talking to me. It's as if these memories belong to another person, and I've somehow stolen his body. While I recall the goals and ideas about the world that I used to hold, it's very few which don't feel entirely divorced from me.
Maybe the long term isolation is really starting to get to me, I'm questioning if I've been slowly beginning to go insane for the past couple of years.
