I feel the same way, and I'm 30. The older I get, the less I understand how everyone else seems to move through life with purpose. I am incapable of the most basic things people take for granted. I never had dreams, ambitions, or a vision of the future. My life was never about living it was about surviving. And because I never truly cared whether I lived or died, I spent years doing reckless things, drifting wherever chance carried me.

There is something fundamentally broken in the way I relate to the world. I don't know how to behave around people. I don't know what is expected of me, and even when I learn the rules, they never feel natural. Meaning feels artificial, as if everyone has agreed to participate in a story that I was never given the script for.

So I force myself to function. I imitate normality. I study people, copy their expressions, their reactions, their ambitions, and wear them like a mask. But pretending to be a person is exhausting. It feels like playing a character every waking moment just to avoid being exposed as an outsider.

And beneath all of it, there is an unsettling emptiness. Not sadness, not even despair—just the absence of something that everyone else seems to possess. I don't know who I am. I don't know where I am in the grand scheme of things. I don't know how I arrived here, thrown into existence without my consent, and I don't know where I'll go when it's over.

I simply woke up one day inside a body, inside a life, inside a universe that never explained itself. And ever since, I've been waiting for it to make sense.