You never realize you're in a time loop until it's too late

I’ve been stuck here for 51 years. I know that might seem daunting to most, but I’m not complaining about it. It’s the result of a lot more factors than just personal interest. I don’t think anyone could be interested in experiencing the same year over and over again for half a century. The first time I realized I was stuck in a time loop was when I was 10 years old. In retrospect, it was probably a less fortunate time for me to realize I was stuck in a time loop. It was a disorienting experience, to put it lightly. Nonetheless, it was also a gift. That’s something I had to learn the hard way, but I eventually came to realize it was something I would have to get used to without complaining. It all started one morning in February of 1965. I woke up, got dressed, and walked downstairs to eat breakfast. The snow that had fallen the night before was falling gently off the roof, melting into a beautiful sight that I can still remember vividly today. I sat down at the table and looked out the window, my mom sitting across from me. She was a lovely woman, very kind and patient. I admired her deeply. Not that morning, however. “Good morning!” she said. Er, well, type of. I’ve heard it so many times that I can’t really remember the first time she said it. I scoffed at her. “We’ve had this meal a thousand times. There’s nothing ‘good’ about this morning.” My mom looked at me with a look of deep concern. “How are you this morning, dear?” “Don’t pretend like you don’t remember!” That was a big mistake. Something I learned a long time ago, and have repeated many times to try and drill it into my skull. Never, ever, pretend like you’re insane. People will think you’re insane. I learned that lesson very painfully. That morning, my parents hustled me away to a mental institution, where I was locked up for the majority of the loop. I learned the value of patience very quickly. You see, if I wanted to do anything in the outside world, I had to talk normally, even if I knew what was going to happen. The problem was it started too early to really understand what was going on. Once I got out of the institution, I was an adult. My parents had both passed away, and I was stuck in this strange world alone. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew that if I wanted to learn more about this world, I had to act normally. Once I figured out what was going on, I had to prepare myself for the long road ahead of me. I got myself a stable job, one that would give me a steady flow of income, but also give me the freedom to pursue my own interests. I had to be careful not to draw attention to myself (my time in the mental institution was proof of that). I also had to have someone that I saw often that I could trust, that I could use as a sounding board for all my frustration. So I got a job as a janitor at a local college. I saw a lot of regulars there, and over a couple loops, I found one student that I could see on a regular basis. She was a kind woman, with long black hair and two green eyes that seemed to pierce right through my soul. I could always trust her, even when I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone else in the entire world. I am not a vain man, but she was also a pleasure to look at. That being said, I kept my emotional distance, at least at first. While these loops had the advantage of giving me a long time to form trust with this woman, I didn’t know her at all. I didn’t know what she was really like, what she enjoyed, or what would upset her. I had a lot of questions about her, none of which I could ever really ask. I felt like I had to be a ghost to her, invisible, just a memory of a man she could never really remember. I felt like I had to be a guardian to her, a guardian that she could never really know. I felt like I needed to be her friend, a friend she would never acknowledge. I also felt like I needed to be her lover, even though she would never need me. That was a big mistake. Searching for connection and intimacy in a world where you don’t really exist is a recipe for disaster. I knew that then, and I know it now. And, worst of all, I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t warn her. If I showed her any kind of care and compassion, she would think I was insane. It took a long time to realize, but that’s one of the biggest problems with time loops. You can never tell anyone about them. For example, let’s say you see a car crash happen. In a normal world, you could go to the driver beforehand and warn him about it. You would look at him like he was crazy, but at least he would know. I didn’t have that luxury. That was the most frustrating part of all. At least I wasn’t alone, though. I saw many things that were impossible to explain, things that I would never even think about mentioning to other people. I saw a group of students cure cancer. I saw a teacher give a lecture about a technology that wouldn’t be invented for decades to come. I saw people from the future, and I had to let them do what they wanted. I used to think about breaking that rule, about telling people about the future. But I never did. It’s not that I didn’t want to. It’s just that I didn’t know what the consequences would be. If I changed something too big, I could end the loop, or end the world. There was no way to know. So, I watched. I never took action. I had to be invisible. And I went crazy. I really did. I became detached from reality. But I saw her. I only saw her once a year, but I always talked to her. I always asked her about the finer details of her life. What did she eat for breakfast? Who was her favorite singer? I learned everything I could about her. And every year, she became more and more beautiful to me. I was getting closer to telling her. I could feel it. I didn‘t. Or at least, I don’t think I did. On the last loop, I finally found my voice. My words caught in my throat, and she looked at me with a mixture of confusion and fear in her eyes. Then the loop ended. I woke up. And 1965 had become 2015.

You never realize you're in a time loop until it's too late

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