Steemit's Great Pretender

They say that depression is rage turned inwards. So what's the solution? Turn it back onto the world? Get rid of it entirely?

If it were only that simple. Sometimes you learn things that you can't unlearn. Sure, you can take drugs to destroy your memory and slow down your logical mind. But that's not a long term solution and the side effects are not worth it.

So what do you do? Do you go berserk on any offending parties whose mere existence makes you feel like old school Vegeta? I'm not talking Columbine level shit here, but words can be harmful too. Why do you think people use them so much?

Why do people try to protect themselves from perceived harm anyway? What are you so afraid of?

You're not gonna die if someone hurts your feelings. So you wrote something that people didn't like. Maybe you got a few nasty comments by someone with a higher post count than you. Big deal.

Is a few seconds of anxiety after reading their comment really enough to prevent you from creating something that you will be proud to show people in the future?

You're willing to throw away your legacy because of a few haters who are too scared to clearly express themselves, so they try to bring YOU down?

Lame.

Oh the irony
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Besides, chances are that most of them are actual real-life losers anyway.

Don't believe me? Take a look next time you get some over-the-top negative criticism from someone. Are they actually someone whose opinion you would value in real life? Or are they just an angry, unaccomplished, hunchbacked creature who tries to pop your balloon because of their own uncontrollable self-hatred?

I wonder.

Really, what are you so afraid of?

Is it because you think that people will laugh at you? So what?

Of course they're going to laugh at you. You're a fucking joke. Look at you, pretending to be something that you're not. Obviously faking it. And even more insulting is that you're not even good at faking it. Do you really think they're dumb enough to fall for that shit? Please.

No, really though. So what?

Do you know how much effort it takes to learn a foreign language to fluency? You need to learn a new alphabet, new vocabulary, new sentence structure, tonality, accents - AND you need to learn it all well enough so that it all comes to you effortlessly when you want to use it.

How long do you think that takes? You don't think people are going to laugh at you for saying you love cock when you really meant to say pass the butter?

And don't give me this shit about "oh well actually all languages just use the same 600 words most of the time so you just have to learn those and you'll be fluent."

No.

I mean yeah, that might be true, but that's not fluency. That's conversational. And that'll get you good enough so that people won't laugh at you all the time. They'll just laugh at you sometimes.

Fantasy, tragedy, and redemption

"Oh but who cares what people think, right @yallapapi? It's all about being yourself!"

Come on. The JBY meme is so played out. What is this, The Notebook?

Give me a break. Nobody wants you to be yourself. They want you to fulfill their darkest fantasies. They want to watch you do the things they don't have the guts to do.

They want to see you take a chance, to go from nobody to somebody and then get torn apart by a raging pack of hyenas after some Kevin Spacey-esque transgression is exposed.

But you know what? They still want to see you back again. We love redemption, because we secretly wish that we could redeem ourselves as well.

That is of course IF you have anything to be redeemed FROM in the first place.

Do you? Are you a bad person? Have you done bad things? Do you still do them?

What is "bad" anyway?

Dude, too philosophical. Keep it simple so the head injury victims don't get too confused. Your posts are at least the length of like, I don't know, 6 Twitter captions. People have shit to do. Those one-line comments and excruciatingly fungible Buzzfeed-esque SEO optimized trash articles aren't going to just write themselves. They can't be wasting time watching you fire a gun at your imaginary friend near 400 gallons of nitroglycerin. Time is money.

Please. These idiots wouldn't know money if it took a shit on their front door. Really, you want to take advice from people who unironically think the value of Steem is tied to the quality of the platform?

It's my body I'll do what I want

Too far off topic. Focus. JBY, remember?

Ah, right. Yeah, I mean... the problem with JBY is the same problem you have with making any argument: it's true and it isn't at the same time.

Yes, you want to "be yourself" but only insofar as that the conveyance of that authenticity is non-disgusting to normal people. But if your version of "authenticity" means being a 33-year old Uber-driving NEET with no goals or aspirations in life other than hitting 6k MMR in Dota, well then fuck you.

Sure, you can live how you want, blah blah blah.

But actually no you can't.

You know that's not the way to do it. That's why you hate yourself.

It's not that you don't like your life. It's actually probably pretty comfortable the way you've organized it. You're so far away from your fears, the things that give you those few awful seconds of anxiety, that you can navigate safely without worrying that you'll ever be pushed even slightly out of your comfort zone.

Shit, it's probably been so long that you don't even remember that there's a difference between your comfort zone and that scary place outside of it. If you're lucky, you'll still get little pangs of "oh shit what am I doing with my life" in between bong rips and episodes of Better Call Saul during your marathon Netflix binges.

If not, well then I don't know what to tell you. You're already dead.

Permadeath

Thanks for reading this, by the way. I wrote this for you, you know. Not because I want to help you. We all know I don't care about that. I wrote this because you're the only one who has time to read it. The Cool Kids are too busy being Cool. The Big Ballers are too busy Balling.

But you? Ha. Come on.

How many games of Dota have you played today?

How many shit articles on this god-forsaken trash heap of a poorly-coded centralized fake money mess have you "read" today.

How many worthless comments have you left in hopes that someone will notice that you're not a complete waste of human life?

Sorry Charlie, but you might be.

"Hey everyone, I just wanted all of you to know that I am actually the coolest person in the history of the human race. Or at least this website. Okay, maybe not the ENTIRE website, but DEFINITELY the comment section of this specific post. And I'm just writing this to let you all know that none of you will ever be better than me in any way, so don't even try. The best you could hope for is public acknowledgement of your existence from me. But don't hold your breath, I'm very busy."

Ugh, it's so sad, you know? Games aren't fun when you play on God Mode.

Sure, maybe for a few minutes. You get all the best guns and can overpower enemies that used to one-shot you like a Dark Souls protagonist.

But what's the fun in that? Where's the danger? Where's the risk? Why are you even wasting your time? Do you want to dunk on 7 year olds or are you looking for a challenge?

Yeah yeah, I know. Getting better requires effort. And it's scary to think that you're going to be bad at something after being a World Class Boring Life Liver for so long. The sad part is that it doesn't even matter how much you "want" or "need" to get better at whatever you suck at.

I know there's people who say it's all about skill, determination, hard work or whatever the current meta says is powerful. How much is their ebook again? (Mine's free by the way.)

Why pro athletes believe in God

You want to know the real secret? Just practice. That's all.

It's so simple, you know? Just go in and think to yourself, "I'm practicing. It doesn't matter if I suck, because this is just practice. This doesn't count."

Watch how you relax almost instantly. And not into the couch either. Into the real world where shit happens.

You know what sucks though? Even that little factoid probably won't help you. Shit, you probably even already knew that. I'm sure you've practiced something in your life, so how could you not have connected the dots by now?

And even though you see the big picture now, what good will that do you? You still need to pull your fat ass out of bed.

Nah, you're way too far gone by now. You've been dead a long time, brother. And Prince Charming isn't going to show up and give you a kiss any time soon.

Will you ever wake up?

Statistically speaking, probably not. Most people won't be ballers - but not because they can't. Anyone CAN. It's because they don't believe they can.

The belief is the hard part, not the actual work. You don't have a million dollars because you don't believe that you can pursue any sort of activity AND ENJOY THE PROCESS long enough for that to happen.

Who are you again?

Actually wait, I take it back. You don't really need to enjoy it.

You think I'm enjoying writing this piece of shit article? No. My fingers are tired, my neck hurts and I've listened to the same Ferry Corsten mix probably 100 times by now. I'd rather be on a beach somewhere soaking in the sun.

But no, here I am, writing some retarded ass shit that makes literally no sense. I mean fuck, this has no point whatsoever other than to feed my own selfish ego. I know when I click publish and transfer a few hundred fake internet dollars out of my account, some poor unsuspecting head injury victims will read it and wonder if I have prion disease.

But they will read it.

Or maybe they won't. Maybe they'll just scroll their mousewheel as fast as they can, check the top comment and leave a generic reinforcement of their own in hopes of being thrown a scrap or two so they don't have to eat out of the garbage tonight.

But someday, someone will read this. They won't know me like you know me, my sweet head injury victims. They'll find me from somewhere else and they won't know anything about upvote bots or Steem Power. They'll read this entire fucking thing and it will completely change their perception of who I am.

I'll know it the next time I talk to them, too. I can see it in their eyes and hear it in their voice. They might as well just tell me, you know? But they never do.

When we talk again they'll wonder, "Okay he said something that sounds borderline normal - but I wonder what he's REALLY thinking?"

And for some reason that's priceless to me. I'm sure I could figure out why if I thought about it, but I have a feeling that introspection on that level would force me to examine unbearable parts of my personality that I'd rather just ignore for now, let alone post them on the internet for everyone to see.

I mean Jesus, I have clients on this website now. Real actual companies that are paying me non-fake US dollars to do work for them have operations running on this website where I am a well-known public figure. What the fuck am I even writing this for? Couldn't I just put this on a separate website or post it anonymously or something?

Nah. What's the fun in that?

You know, it's weird. I used to be so scared to publish anything about myself. I was always terrified that people I knew would read it and think that I'm some kind of wacko.

I am of course, and they probably already knew that anyway, but I was just worried that reading something like this would be undeniable proof that would make it virtually impossible to put the shit back in the horse.

But then I realized that it takes such a tremendous amount of work to get anyone to even know who you are in the first place (let alone give a shit about what you think), that you might as well do what you enjoy. And I don't know why, but I enjoy this.

Lucky you, huh?

RIP Anthony Bourdain

Maybe it's because I'm an old-ass 34 year old boomer, but I just stopped caring. And started posting. And posting. And posting some more.

And not that lovey-dovey shit either. I hate that. It's so fake. And I only like fake compliments when they're directed at me.

But these comments WEREN'T! They were on OTHER people's blogs, OTHER people's articles that were written about non-@yallapapi topics and were therefore absolutely awful in a 100% objective way.

I mean seriously, how many fucking Top 10 articles can you read without wanting to throw your laptop out the fucking window? Do you actually give two shits about some Mongolian crab-fishing village that uses their dial-up internet connection to shitpost to Steemit?

No. You don't.

And oh my god, if I have to read one more post speculating about the value of Steem, I may actually start looking for clocktowers.

Look you dumb shit motherfuckers, the value of Steem has nothing to do with how good the platform is (not very), how good the content on this site is (bad), or how many groundbreaking sidechains there are that work better than their non-blockchainified counterparts (none).

The value of Steem in inexorably tied to - get ready for it - the value of Bitcoin.

It's very simple: Bitcoin goes up, Steem goes up. Bitcoin goes down, Steem goes down.

You can replace Steem with literally any other coin and the same statement will be true.

Off topic again. Bring it back baby, bring it back...

Fuck that. I'm tired now. I really shouldn't publish this. It's so bad.

I don't even want to edit it, because that means I'm going to have to read it over again like 6 times and be constantly reminded that it's awful. I can't even write this one off as practice either. I mean I could, but what am I practicing here exactly? My typing speed?

Actually now that I think about it, maybe this is worth publishing. I wrote it all as it came into my mind. Besides, people will see the triple/quadruple digits at the bottom of this train wreck and assume it has inherent value. And that's if they even bother to read it.

Sure, I deleted most of the suicide jokes out of respect for Anthony Bourdain, but other than that, these are all 100% Original @YallaPapi Thoughts. This is what I really think. I think. Doesn't that mean it's good or something? I already forget. Plz upvote sir.

Do you...? Oh fuck it I don't even care.
Just leave a comment.