First Post #3

Hello friend, right now is 2025/05/29 17h42.

This is my first post. A little thing about me, I am broke as hell right now. I’m longing to be sitting alone at this one bar on a high rooftop, enjoying the breeze, having two beers and chain smoking Marlboro’s. How I wish.

Today I am feeling down. Just waiting for my salary. Can’t go anywhere if I wanted to. And I remembered this little project that I started…. I’m afraid I only know how to start things. That I’m a collector of first posts, fake projects, hobby threads, and internal essays. I think I’ve never really finished anything. I keep circling this feeling that I must be building something, but I don’t have anything to show for it.

Anyways. I found a discord server I made for myself back in 2022. Just me and the FBI guy from the future. Most channels were for collecting, images and gifs, bookmarks, quotes, etc.

And I found a #microjournal channel, supposedly for letting my heart out from time to time. I reframed and aggregated some of them, with the intension of posting them here. The process truly was emotionally charging. And given the general sentiment…. They feel like transmissions from someone I still am. Someone who’s been looping this same set of feelings, obsessions, and truths.

During a particularly bad week in 2023, I found myself writing “Everyone is a pedestrian. And I am disgusted by everyone. And I am everyone. And I am disgusting.” The quote was funny. And mean. And deeply true, at the time. I know now that I wasn’t actually disgusted with others. I was witnessing my own smallness and projecting it outward.

How hard can it be to digest a simple fact? You are not exceptional. The first time I had doubts about religion was when I realized that I cannot be the messiah. As funny and stupid as a 10 year-old me, surely god is making a mistake, he rejected me and so I had to reject him. But life, I spiraled into the depression between Mt. self-image and reality hill, but I sure did not reject life.

Mediocricity isn’t failure. Most of us live here, I just wasn’t prepared for that. I grew up in a different narrative, and everything was like a self fulfilling prophecy, things just happen, and everytime you get a medal for just being, I’m at the top and I don’t even try. My god-complex kept getting nurtured, not just by me, but by my environment, family and school. The first time I had doubts about myself, was going to middle school, the elite middle school, one for three states, and I got selected for that. Far from home, far from family, far from my room and computer and toys and books. But that wasn’t what bugged me the most. No not at all. I was actually scared, that I will be among the other kids who were likewise selected, that I will be average amongst them. I kept rocking though but I had to push hard to stay in place. But I couldn’t hold that drive for long.

If teenagehood hit me like a bus, adulthood hit me like a meteorite tearing through the earth’s atmosphere. The pressure had a thousand faces. Loneliness. Addiction. Work. The unbearable weight of being average on a Tuesday. There’s a particular flavor of resentment in those entries. Not just directed at others—though, plenty of that. But mostly at the machine of life, and the ways I felt complicit in my own entrapment. I failed. And I keep failing. Quietly, consistently, in small and ordinary ways.

To my future self:

If you’re reading this, you’re still carrying it all. The resentment, the clarity, the guilt, the insight, the dirty jokes, the poetic self-hate, the philosophical fragments, the idea that you’re supposed to be more than this by now.

I hope you’ve stopped pretending you’re less sensitive than you are. I hope you’ve stayed a little bit chaotic. And I hope, truly, that you’re still writing first posts. Because they’re never really the first. And that’s the point.

Listening to: Daylight Matters, Nobody, After the Storm, Dancing Queen,

This place is under destruction.