DirtyCurryCell
Banned
-
- Joined
- May 12, 2020
- Posts
- 2,744
- Online
- 30d 4h 58m
Like ER, I always believed that through hobbymaxxing, I could move away from my family, make all the cosmetic and wardrobe changes I need, attain fame and fortume, and then, by status alone, I will have a girlfriend.
I have posted my life story here several times. While I belong the upper middle class, I grew up among the ghetto dwellers of curryland. I was bullied, and beaten, and rejected. Not just by women, but by society in general. I was never interested in branded product clothing or expensive phones. They were mere frivolities to me.
I thought that all of my suffering would pay off, when I create my magnum opus.
I have created a lot of great works of art. But I'm told that I will have a hard time finding a publisher because my work is aimed at "intellectual men". I have shown my work to a lot of people, and they love it. But I doubt my work will uplift me from having to work 9 to 5. A lot of artists and writers, only became famous after their deaths. The ones who succeeded within their lifetime did so with enormous wealth, or dumb luck. And at the risk of sounding selfish, to me, that is a fate worse than death. It is the equivalent of slavery, that my work be relished, after my death, my simpletons who cannot even grasp them.
Though I have yet to read his work, I relate to Franz Kafka the most. I feel disgust by my own weak, frail body. I feel worse than a cockroach. I feel like a character in a body horror movie. Every day I stand in the shower and slowly watch my hair fall down the shower. And I keep expecting to see nails and chunks of flesh to fall with them. I am Jeff Goldblum in the fly.
Even in this group, I feel like an outcast. I've been among darktriadmaxxed ghetto people, religous fanatics, "atheists", communists, capitalists, local celebrities, chads and stacies, my own family, and now, incels. The left hates me because of views on economics. The right hates me because of views on LGBT rights. They both hate me because of my views on colonialism and foreign policy. There's a weird middle ground where all of that fits in, and they hate me because I am blackpilled and acknowledge female hypergamy. Meanwhile, this group often gives me shit when I say that I have foid friends, hang out with chads, or when I point out that I have standards.
I can only imagine about all the times in my life, if a certain thing had gone right, or if I had the right genes, or if a certain woman had chosen to love me, over all the scum out there... or how different my world would be. But the blackpill cannot be undone. This group posts a lot of nonsense, from ISIS and Nazi retards, to rants which show that they clearly don't know what they're talking about. But the more I try to escape the blackpill, the more I go out into the real world, the more the blackpill solidifies itself within me.
Even if a women were to love me now, I would feel like I'm being scammed or tricked.
I feel my body breaking apart on me each second. Everything hurts. Not even my biggest cope; food, uplifts me anymore.
I feel alone, even in this group.
I am afraid that I have no choice but to die.
The only thing keeping me alive are basic survival instincts.
I have lost the will to live.
My body is present. But I am lying dead on the beach.
I have posted my life story here several times. While I belong the upper middle class, I grew up among the ghetto dwellers of curryland. I was bullied, and beaten, and rejected. Not just by women, but by society in general. I was never interested in branded product clothing or expensive phones. They were mere frivolities to me.
I thought that all of my suffering would pay off, when I create my magnum opus.
I have created a lot of great works of art. But I'm told that I will have a hard time finding a publisher because my work is aimed at "intellectual men". I have shown my work to a lot of people, and they love it. But I doubt my work will uplift me from having to work 9 to 5. A lot of artists and writers, only became famous after their deaths. The ones who succeeded within their lifetime did so with enormous wealth, or dumb luck. And at the risk of sounding selfish, to me, that is a fate worse than death. It is the equivalent of slavery, that my work be relished, after my death, my simpletons who cannot even grasp them.
Though I have yet to read his work, I relate to Franz Kafka the most. I feel disgust by my own weak, frail body. I feel worse than a cockroach. I feel like a character in a body horror movie. Every day I stand in the shower and slowly watch my hair fall down the shower. And I keep expecting to see nails and chunks of flesh to fall with them. I am Jeff Goldblum in the fly.
Even in this group, I feel like an outcast. I've been among darktriadmaxxed ghetto people, religous fanatics, "atheists", communists, capitalists, local celebrities, chads and stacies, my own family, and now, incels. The left hates me because of views on economics. The right hates me because of views on LGBT rights. They both hate me because of my views on colonialism and foreign policy. There's a weird middle ground where all of that fits in, and they hate me because I am blackpilled and acknowledge female hypergamy. Meanwhile, this group often gives me shit when I say that I have foid friends, hang out with chads, or when I point out that I have standards.
I can only imagine about all the times in my life, if a certain thing had gone right, or if I had the right genes, or if a certain woman had chosen to love me, over all the scum out there... or how different my world would be. But the blackpill cannot be undone. This group posts a lot of nonsense, from ISIS and Nazi retards, to rants which show that they clearly don't know what they're talking about. But the more I try to escape the blackpill, the more I go out into the real world, the more the blackpill solidifies itself within me.
Even if a women were to love me now, I would feel like I'm being scammed or tricked.
I feel my body breaking apart on me each second. Everything hurts. Not even my biggest cope; food, uplifts me anymore.
I feel alone, even in this group.
I am afraid that I have no choice but to die.
The only thing keeping me alive are basic survival instincts.
I have lost the will to live.
My body is present. But I am lying dead on the beach.
