External Locus of Control

After some heavy-duty adulting today, I have suddenly come to an ultimate, binding, and final conclusion.

No matter what, I need to stop putting any stock at all in shit that happens online. And I want to tell you why.

My disappointment is practically tangible. It is something that is almost malleable. There is nothing I want to have to do with most of humanity, and there is nothing I can do, or would ever be willing to do, to conform to the expectations placed upon me. And I want to tell you why.

Because there’s nothing in this for me. People, they want to be ‘remembered’. I have no such delusions of grandeur: I know that human beings forget one another because they simply do not care. And they simply do not care because this is a child species. This is a species of barely-sentient animals that fears the future with such trepidation that they’ve brainwashed themselves into thinking it is a day that will never, ever come.

They make deals with each other, but I’m not privy to them. Nothing of what these people promise is actually real. There are deals that are presented to me— but none of them actually represent anything I want anything to do with, because they’re always front-heavy. They are always weighted towards the person offering the deal receiving so much more than the person taking it. And there are no 50-50 deals. Those things do not exist.

At the moment the Human World is poisoned by Capitalism. It will take some time for it to work its way out of humanity’s systems; and by the time it is done, I will no longer be interested in this species. As I write this, I want little to nothing to do with them already.

But I want to explain why.

Promises made, but never kept.

At the basest of all levels, even ignoring the fact that I was regularly denied medical care by human beings, the thing I hate about human beings (at least Americans) is that they so rarely kept their promises that I don’t think I can trust anybody ever again. Not online, at least.

I raised money for people. You dig that? Millions upon millions of dollars. None of those people talk to me anymore. Most of them fucking tried (and failed!) to throw me under the bus once they got their money.

I once raised $30,000+ for someone’s top surgery.

The minute they got the money, they tried to get me cancelled.

I’m not saying that I viscerally hate all of humanity. I don’t.

I just cannot fucking trust you.

And it hurts. It hurts because, no matter what you put in front of me, no matter how much I qualify for it, no matter how much I ‘deserve’ anything under the rules that you people make up for yourselves, you never play by the rules. Never.

I fucking raised literal millions of dollars, and nobody remembers.

It’s not that I want a parade. It’s not that I want to be thanked.

It’s that I wanted the goodness in my heart to shine through, and to be able to live in peace, to co-exist, with human beings. I wanted them to stop treating me like I was deleterious. And it’s never going to happen, mostly because none of you really give a single shit about one another, so giving a shit about me is way outside your purview.

I’m making relationships in the real world, now, and they’re vastly fulfilling. But part of me feels really bad, because I wanted to stick it out on here, and I wanted to, I don’t know, build something. But I don’t think that that’s really possible. After all, we’re only all leasing domain names; and I don’t yet host my own websites. (But that’s coming in the future.)

I have everything good in life.

But I don’t think that I can ever really have anything that’s being offered on here.

What it was like to be (in)famous

I didn’t like it.

I’ve been famous for different things 14-15 fucking times now, and every single time, I kept on saying to myself, maybe this time’ll be good. It was never good. The last time I was famous, I had a YouTuber coming to me in private, asking me to be involved in a plot to murder somebody.

What I thought Fame would be, is, I would be able to fix some of the problems that I saw that were plaguing the little people. But the reality is, no matter what I did, I was always kept out of helping others. There was always someone trying to stop me, and no good deed ever went unpunished. These things, of course, are no good reason for me to stop trying. But I have to wonder what I’m actually giving up, and which of my loved ones I am putting in danger, to help strangers.

I don’t fear reprisal. I’ve been shot in the head five times in this life and I have little fear of death. But, after my parents got SWATted because some dipshit didn’t like me, because they didn’t like that I was able and willing to assert myself when they tried to punish me for being myself, I started to wonder if any of this was worth it. And, it isn’t. None of this is worth it.

But I’m not some pussy bitch who stands down just because people threaten their loved ones. Still, I have to wonder what the point of being myself online really even is when

I don’t even really want to do it anymore.

People you can trust

When it comes to human beings, I trust only a few people. They’ve earned that trust. For everyone else, there’s MasterC— no. You know what I mean.

What, exactly, is the point of putting myself out there? I find it fun. But is there a point to it? And if so, what is that point?

I must admit that I put myself out there so much because people kept on trying to push me down. They thought they could bully me; they thought that they deserved to be able to shut me up. So I kept on talking, because fuck them.

But here is the question, now.

Who am I doing this for? For me? I’m bored, I must admit. But, ultimately, who am I doing this for? Or because of? I have no more enemies left. At one point, I had 33+ stalkers. They’re all gone. Some of them are actually in the Looney Bin, now.

I have no ‘opponents’. I no longer ‘fight’. I have no desire to argue; I have no desire to, you know, be online anymore. I want to look at titties and kitties on social media, and occasionally talk to my friends, who are going through it like I am. And I want to write great books, and make great things. But I don’t know who or what my audience is. I only know that no one has ever said anything bad about my writing before— and when they’ve tried to, they only grasped at straws. Or they were trying to be ‘mean’. They had nothing valid to say.

What is my future, God? It doesn’t seem to be online. Yet all of my expertise is on ‘living’ on here. And it’s no place to live.

How do I escape it?

What else do I do? Especially when I feel so ill lately.

I don’t know.

But I’m starting to think that the way forward requires me to stop fucking thinking.