I’m hangin’ up my hat.
I first got online in May of 1994. And, let me tell you— the game has changed. We’ve gone from a proletarian Wild West, in the olden days, to the corporate Hellfuck that is today. The Internet of Today™ is a place of unmitigated cruelty, and I just don’t want to look at it anymore. I am tired.
I’ve had a lot of heights. I was popular as a kid on the Internet’s first social network— something nobody else seems to remember, which honestly makes me wonder about the longevity of the human memory. Besides that, I’ve had myriad great adventures. But I cannot find any other ones. (And believe me— I’ve tried.)
I’ve had my successes. I had multiple YouTube videos that reached millions of views: one with over 3 million, that was the top one. Hell, I even got Verified on YouTube. Not for that— but, still.
At one point, I had over 100,000 social media followers. Count all my Twitter alts, and I still probably do.
One Twitter account had over 30,000 friends, thus making me a real girl. That was my goal.
I said I’d quit when that happened.
But still, I continued.
I don’t know why.
The greatest height of all my ‘fame’— whatever you want to call it, on here— was when I got over 10 million views in 26 hours on the worst meme I have ever created. It had over 256,000 likes; over 50,000 retweets. More than even what most people would call the platform’s top comedy account. I liked that.
I published a book. I published a song. I got Verified on Spotify. I was #1 on a playlist. I wrote articles for Polywork and The Internet Archive. I worked with a few charities. I helped probably thousands of people. Hell, I know I did. Me and my friends raised over a million dollares for various charitable causes.
I got a Google Knowledge Panel.
And now, I can’t think of anything else I can do here.
Again, this isn’t some ‘goodbye’. I’m not going anywhere. But I have to ask myself this question: why did you keep on trying for other things? What was it about this place that made you want to keep on trying to have ‘fun’ here?
I guess it’s because I’ve always used the Internet as a place where I could escape my shitty fucking real life. But now, my real life is just beginning. It keeps on getting better, each and every day. And I can’t imagine ever coming back to this place for moral support.
I should also note, it wasn’t ‘harassment’. I mean, fucking please. The people online who bray about harassment— they’re all just trying to make their money off of being professional victims. My family got SWATted by Kiwi Farms. You know what the cops do? They put your house on a list so it can’t happen again.
I don’t know, kids. I don’t know what the Hell happened. I don’t know what I even expected. This Internet thing has been full dead dove, but I kept on looking in the bag.
I don’t know what I kept on thinking. Did I think the dove would burst magically back into life?
It never did.
I’ve given up on Twitch and anybody else, but, for my last trick, I’ve asked Twitter for a Gold checkmark. They opened up Verification for Business, and I think I might be able to get in. The place is so disordered that it’s not only worth a shot, but I also think that I’m literally, actually eligible. We’ll see.
But even if I get it?
That’d still be it.
The game is well and truly over. I think it has been well and truly over since Arcadium died. And yet, I still persisted— even though Sak and Lago are gone. Even though I don’t talk with Vince, or Cyrus, or Junon. Or Magus! Remember Magus?
You probably don’t.
We never did defeat Calypso.
Sometimes I think about what that roleplay session would have been like.
In any case, the only thing left for me now is the space aliens. And I know that, if anybody who actually cares about me, reads this, you’ll all worry. Worry that I’ve gone nuts; worry about my mental health.
But the thing is— I can’t remember anything but them. And, this entire time? I’ve kept myself from talking about them. This isn’t some new thing. This has always been a part of me.
Now, it’s the last thing that I have to pursue. That I want to pursue.
I’ve been working at putting my affairs in order— doing döstädning, not because I intend on dying— but because my life in the Human World is, well. It’s truly over. I don’t have anything left that I want to do here. There’s nothing left for me— here.
But there is on the ship.
I’m also working mentally to soothe myself emotionally. That’s why I’m writing this. That’s why, in the coming days, I’m going to be publishing more articles. And these articles will entail all the things that I kind of— I don’t know. It’s not ‘regret’; but more, it is a feeling that, I sometimes wish that things could’ve gone better. I’m writing those, and publishing those, because writing and publishing is the way I make peace with my own soul. I don’t want to leave this place with any unfinished mental business.
But, after that?
There’s nothing to do but go to the aliens.
I’m not afraid anymore.
I just hope I get there sooner, rather than later.