#isekai thoughts

Like, if I was isekaied into the body of a 10-13 year old as a 24 year old, I'd probably have the biggest cry/wall punching fit.

Where's my adult money?!?! Where's almost acne free skin?!?! My drivers license and car?!?! Oh god imagining going through puberty again sends shivers down my spine and tears to my eyes.

I'd be panicking wondering if my mental illnesses followed me to the new world if I got isekaied. Like, fuck, I'm going to be off my meds until I or someone invents them if this is a medieval setting!! Also, if you get isekaied, goes your mind+soul go through medicine withdrawal? Like, i can feel my mind becoming foggy and uncomfortable when I run out of my meds, am I going to have to go through that every day until I invent something??

Omg, imagine you reincarnated and you know that medical/in general things you need to be successful, but your parents are indenial?

and the dude's like "Oh hey, newbie, huh? Yeah. Everyone you meet here's gonna be a fellow isekai'd person. We've all just been isekai'd to this random empty world."

Then he points, directing mc to a town, and continues. "But, well, it's been going on for so long that we've basically made our own civilisation. So, welcome to your new home."

(the dude has OP armour because all the isekai'd people do arrive with crazy skills like you would find in a typical isekai; so basically everyone has OP bs, but that technically rebalances the power scales and renders said OP stuff... sorta completely average.)

Question: How'd they manage to build a civilisation with a bunch of OP power fantasy nerds?

What I mean by that is that it has the potential to explore how rebirth can effect the human psyche. One moment you're living you're life, only to have it cut short - normally in a violent and slow fashion. So as you lie there, suffering from the pain of your injuries, the panic, and the reluctant acceptance that you'll never accomplish your goals, see your friends and family again, do any of the things you put off because you simply didn't have the time or money.

You die. But instead of the numb comfort of the void embracing you, you wake up, but everything is different and wrong.

The mental anguish is still wracking your brain as you try to figure out just what's happening, but as you look at your hands only to find those of a stranger, you panic. Maybe you try to run, but your new limbs are too long, too short, too many, and you fall. Fearfully crawling to who knows where when you see something reflective.

A stranger is looking back at you in pure terror, swear beading down their face as they stare wide-eyed and panting, tears forming at the corner of their eyes. But that's not right. Their movement, their expression, even the way their eyes dart around is exactly the same as yours.

Dread and realization creeps into your mind as everything clicks into place; that's you. It's not your face, your eyes, your freckles. It's nothing like the person who greeted you in the mirror everyday for the past x amount of years; but that you. That terrified stranger frantically touching their face, pulling at their skin and hair is you, and no matter what you try, no matter how much you cry and beg for some sort of explanation, it's still just you.