Hey mortals, guess what? I’m somehow doing great. Yeah, great, like “didn’t see that coming” kinda great. No idea how the hell that happened, but hey I’ll take it.
After being mentally wrecked for almost two damn years straight—August 2023 to June 2025, to be exact I’m finally outta that black hole. No more suicidal loops, no more insomnia marathons, no more “what’s the point” breakdowns. Depression? Deleted. I’m back bitches. Better, meaner, and slightly more stable.
It’s been one existential acid trip—just me, wandering through the empty halls of my brain, asking Who the hell am I? Why am I alive? What’s my purpose? You know, casual Tuesday stuff.
Still got questions with no answers, but at least I see a damn trail now. Light at the end of the tunnel isn’t a train this time, is it?.
And oh man, here’s a kicker—I used to obsess over one question: What is reality? Thought I’d crack it wide open. Nope. Brain fried. Until I ran into this god-tier quote from Terry Davis—madman, genius, holy roller coder. He said:
"What's reality? I don't know. When my bird was looking at my computer monitor I thought "That bird has no idea what he's looking at." And yet what does the bird do? Does he panic? No, he can't really panic, he just does the best he can. Is he able to live in a world where he's so ignorant? Well, he doesn't really have a choice. The bird is okay even though he doesn't understand the world. You're that bird looking at the monitor, and you're thinking to yourself, I can figure this out.
Maybe you have some bird ideas.
Maybe that's the best you can do."
Boom. That’s it. We’re all just birds flapping in a digital universe we don’t understand, pretending we can decode the matrix. Joke’s on us. And honestly? That’s fine. You don’t need all the answers to live, you just need to not self-destruct while you’re guessing.
So yeah. I’m alive. Still clueless. Somehow fine!
ughh, ok look I’m not gonna sit here and say I’m totally fine, alright? There’s still mental shrapnel lodged in my psyche from clawing my way through two years of psychological trench warfare. Trying to carve out who you are while dragging a bag full of trauma behind you is like trying to build a rocket while it’s on fire.
You ever tried rewriting every messed-up belief you've had about yourself since you were a kid? Like, “Hey maybe I am smart enough”, “maybe I do matter,” even though your brain's been broadcasting the opposite for decades? Yeah—it’s like detonating your own mental architecture just so you can build a new one out of the rubble.
It wasn’t just hard, it was cosmic-level hard. Crash, burn, rebuild. Repeat. Until you wake up and go, “Damn, maybe this is me now.”
These two years? Literal hell simulator. Search. Reboot. Soul-forging, ego-killing, identity-recoding chaos. Had to face traumas, admit screw-ups I kept sweeping under the neural rug, and uninstall all the deep-rooted malware ideas planted in my head. But guess what? I almost made it through.
Now? I'm a brand new motherfucking version 2.0 of myself. Still got some mental battle scars, and no they don’t fade with time. But they’re not there to break me. They’re there to remind me. Lessons were learned. Chapters closed.
Finished at Sat, Jun 14.2025