Polkadot

Tbh none of this would've happened if a specific few men went to therapy

i hate it when i find a source for the exact knowledge that i am seeking but it is written by a man. Like most of what i know is due to hate and not wanting to have a 'i dont know' phase

you can't have your swag and eat it too

i am aware that every generation before us has thought they would be the last generation and that apocalypse would come any day now, but i genuinely cannot conceive of humanity making it past like, 2028. how will the world end, you might ask? well it's simple: the fundamental logic of the universe will continue falling apart and then we will all turn to little goo-thingies.

What if I'm going through a phase where I'm rehearsing my own disappearance into something I call love— something I regard with absolute devotion, unwavering passion, and a certainty so complete that I've mistaken it for the very purpose of my creation? Maybe I've mistaken erosion for devotion? Maybe every piece of myself I sacrifice feels like evidence? Proof that my dedication is real.Proof that I am standing firm.becuz yes bitch i love that shit better than you all and you wont understand where im coming from!?!? I taught myself that the more something consumes you, the more sacred it becomes; that to be devoured is to be chosen.(by who idk just listen—tf) But what if I'm not in love with the thing itself? What if I'm passionate about the sensation of dissolving?

I need insurance for everything in my life bro like nah im so Indecisive

What if my passion is just a phase?

Weird girl in the weirdest setting

Ai exists that's why i feel optional

I hate hating hate because hating hate is still hate and if I hate hate then hate has successfully convinced me to participate in hate through the hatred of hate itself. Which I hate. I think. Unless I hate that I hate it. Then the hate isn't hate anymore—it's hatred toward the existence of my hatred regarding hate.

Me:Relax it's not a murder attempt by fate. Also me: you are just a crush dummy

Activating my plot armor cuz aint no way i would die in developmental arc

my growth becomes a cycle of self-cannibalism.

When the world gives you confusion turn it into poetry

You stand there asking why everything falls apart, as if your fingerprints aren't on every shattered thing in the room. You call it bad luck. Timing. Circumstance. Anything but your own name. #writing

I'm 21. But since I'm an october baby the year changes before I enjoy my age. And now the subtraction of 2004 from 2026 gives 22. But I'm 21, cross my heart. I just think its unfair that I'm falsely accused of being 22 when I'm 21 and then, when I finally (actually) turn 22, the year will change so quick that I'm going to be accused of being 23. 23 is oldddd man. I dont wanna be 23. 23 feels like you need to have your life figured out, I dont have that. I'm not even in the vicinity of that.

You are chain reaction of psychological damage extending across multiple generations of licensed professionals.

Find me a therapist

Stop bitching. No, don't. Maybe the bitching is data. Maybe the bitching is the only honest thing happening. Maybe honesty is overrated. Maybe that's exactly what a dishonest person would say. See? This is why nothing gets done. I try to make a decision and suddenly my brain turns into a group project where nobody did the reading. "Leave." "Stay." "Fight." "Surrender." "Trust the process." "What process?" "The one nobody can explain without using the word journey." Every answer sounds profound for six seconds and then collapses under cross-examination. Follow your heart. The heart is a muscle. Follow your mind. The mind once spent twenty minutes looking for a phone while holding it. Become who you are. Which one? The childhood version? The ambitious version? The exhausted version? The version that exists only in shower arguments? Every time I think I've found myself, another self walks in asking for identification. At this point I don't have an identity. I have a rotating cast. A committee. A civil war. A crowded elevator of conflicting motivations all trying to press different buttons. One wants success. One wants peace. One wants revenge. One wants a nap. The nap is currently winning by a landslide. And then people say: "Just be yourself." As if "yourself" isn't a suspiciously unstable coalition government. As if half my personality wasn't formed by accidents, misunderstandings, sleep deprivation, and three comments someone made in 2017. I don't know whether I'm growing or just rearranging my delusions into more aesthetically pleasing patterns. I call it healing. I call it spiraling. I call it transformation. I call it rebranding. I call it a breakthrough. Three weeks later I call it a phase. Everything is either a life-changing revelation or a future embarrassment. There is apparently no middle ground. And the deeper I think, the less solid everything becomes. Goals become preferences. Preferences become moods. Moods become weather. Suddenly my entire worldview is being held hostage by whether I slept well. Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. Imagine constructing a philosophy of existence only to realize it can be altered by a sandwich. At some point the chaos becomes so complete it loops back into clarity. Not enlightenment. Just exhaustion. The kind where you stare into the abyss and the abyss looks equally confused. The kind where every question eats itself. Who am I? Who is asking? Why am I here? Compared to what alternative? What if none of this matters? Why does that thought feel strangely freeing? Why does freedom sometimes resemble falling? Why does falling sometimes resemble flying? Why do I suddenly sound like a quote posted over a blurry mountain? And then, after thousands of thoughts have fought, collapsed, contradicted themselves, resurrected, and filed appeals against reality itself— I arrive at the grand conclusion: I have absolutely no idea what is going on. Which is unfortunate. Because I have been acting as lead investigator on this case for years. "You are dehydrated" "Use a calculater instade of whatever this is"