When I pull myself back from my fantasies about being this popular, eccentric, independent person I realize I’m anything but. I’m not anyone’s favorite person. No one asks to sit next to me on the bus. No one stops to show me something funny they saw on Instagram or tell me some dark secret of theirs. No one would care if I vanished off the face of the earth because I didn’t form any kind of significant bond with them. I am not special. I’m not the main character or the one who saves the day. I am just another drop in the bucket.
All Comments
I am popular. Guess what? It doesn’t save you from feeling like you haven’t done enough with your life or that you’re just one in a billion. You’re experiencing what it’s like to be human and struggle with feelings of recognizing your mortality/lack of uniqueness. You think being popular would someone save you from those feelings. Nope.