"Everyone is real except me"

This thought has crossed my mind several times, especially in the last few years. It's the exact opposite of theories like "everyone is a robot but me," or "my whole life is a dream I haven't woken up from yet." Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually human, or just a figment of people's imaginations, only existing to be the comic relief in their life or help them answer homework questions. What if my parents only became psychologically convinced they'd had a child, and my mother's entire pregnancy was only a fever dream? What if I don't really exist, I'm just a lie sent by the universe to satisfy my parents' desire for a child? 

The theory exists for other cases too. I only exist for my friends to have someone to talk to, for my managers to have someone to manage, for my neighbors to have someone to wave to while taking out the trash, for my dog to have someone to feed him. 

What significance do I have when I'm not helping along someone else's stories? I don't even mean that in a sad depressed way, I mean it in a genuinely curious way. If I'm completely by myself and I make a joke, who's there to laugh? No one but myself, which has almost no significance because what's the point of telling a joke just for yourself. What's the point of going to do things for myself just to make myself happy when I can be twice as happy doing things for someone else? 

Sometimes I feel like I'm not even a real human, like I don't understand how to do certain things "properly." Maybe I just exist to make people feel more normal, because they might be weird, but at least they know how to talk properly. Or maybe I exist to make the people that don't fit in feel less alone. Maybe someday I'll learn how to exist for myself. 

Sorry for the very unstructured and random blog post, I promise I try to make more organized, almost essay-type posts usually. Have a wonderful day and remember that you matter, not only to other people but to yourself as well. (Even if you don't feel like it sometimes!)