Everyone is God and I’m in hell

Categories: innersanctum

My goal was to be what society wants but there is no way to unite enough contradictions.

I wasn’t the perfect average and couldn’t belong anywhere, so I mutilated myself where I was too much and inflated where I was deficient. Now, I’m distorted and malformed and there’s nothing more to amputate and nothing left to exaggerate, but now I can finally be placed. somewhere

Having a baby feels like an admission of failure, for me, personally. My life is over. Reproducing is an admission that either you have nothing going on, or, on the positive spectrum, that you have so much money you need something irreplaceable to spend it on. It’s either a symbol of poverty or wealth. Just like everything else!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Having a baby has made me realize just how fucking stupid I am. Not that I needed a baby to realize that. I’ve always known I was so, very dumb. And very sick, but having a baby made it more apparent, and I have no rationales to deny it.

It’s low IQ to be traumatized. One ought to be able to use reason to calculate a positive outcome from any negative situation. There is, usually always, a way to think oneself out of every emotional problem. And if there isn’t, that’s a failure of intelligence.

Having a baby makes it explicit how animalistic everyone is. Is there really a difference between rooting around for milk and typing in front of a computer or discussing world politics? It’s silly to think we don’t do those things to fulfill some human instinct. The utterance of a single sentence is a life-or-death necessity…

Believing that we’re at the top of the hierarchy, without any (apparent) higher authority to look at us and witness our primal instincts, sure makes it seem like we’ve got so much figured out. That’s why believing that reptilians exist is so helpful… Thankfully, something can look at us as we are. And we can see our servitude and enslavement by imagining ourselves through reptilian eyes…

That’s why it’s so important that we AI, invent God, invent a million omnipotent or near-omnipotent beings that can see through the self-direction, action, and internal willpower we think we possess. Someday, we’ll have our master, our dominator, and finally, we’ll be seen as we are.

Or not, I’m just a dumb housewife. I truly feel humiliated that I can think. I feel so ashamed that I have a perception of “the world.” Someone with more intelligence, creativity, experience, etc. has a better understanding. I can just picture this Better, Superior Other looking at me and laughing. I’m a writhing maggot compared to Them. Everyone is God and they all look down on me with pity. It’s embarrassing that I used to walk around this earth thinking that I had any inherent value, or special worth that made me a “unique” individual (not in the ‘I’m better sense‘, but in the ‘I’m special because Everyone else is Special in their own Special Way’ #ParticipationAwardForLivingonEarth‘ special…). I feel painfully ashamed that I thought there was something that made my existence singular. I now realize I am, to the joy of my 14-year-old self, actually dead inside. As in, there is no interior. I am a golem. Seriously, though…some people become self-actualized, I, on the other hand, have become fully mechanized. I, as a person, am worthless, valueless, and purposeless. I am and have nothing that this world values. My only significance is as a statistic making up a larger population.

Twitter mind control has gotten me so profoundly (the extremism, the polarization, the DEHUMANIZATION, the meme formats, the FASCIST MIND VIRUS. I can make a joke about it, but it hurts. It hurts to accept the truth! I’ve looked at my website and I’ve reflected on my thoughts. I think the eugenics mindset is already thoroughly embedded in culture, but … is it Twitter or is it larger culture? It’s hard to say. I think Twitter (where I was confined, at least) is downstream from the larger culture, US culture, specifically. Then there are little ravines that go back into the swamp of popular culture. And the larger culture is a death wish and a murderer. IS HUMAN CULTURE SADOMASOCHISTIC? The point is: “Culture” wants me dead. I think my EUGENICS FOREVER post probably talked about it a bit more. But it’s gotten worse. Anyway, the real MIND VIRUS that’s infected me and that I’m diseased with is this San Francisco Web 2.0 libertarian millionaire mindset. Optimize your stupidity. Meritocracy rewards the HIGH IQ. If you’re really that intelligent, you’ll think your way out of the morass of sheep consumer user losers. If you were really useful to this world, you’d be influencing millions, if not billions. If you were really that worthy of human dignity, you’d be a programmer (of golems). [As I’ve said before: Become God2 and Kill Yourself]

I had my IQ tested when I was 14, as I was being kicked out of high school and placed in an alternative school. I’m no genius… that’s obvious. It was between 125-130, that’s all I’ll say. Due to being of upper-middle intelligence, I’m very sensitive and insecure. I think being at this level of intelligence is annoying because it seems like you’re intelligent, but you’re not. Not really. Just like… You know, being an Aquarius makes me an incurably selfish and cold person. I’m condemned by a measurement. Either by the sum of a test or the measurement of planets. My longevity is determined by the measurements of my body. Because my heart rate and blood pressure indicate the long-term health of my body, the measurement of the planets equally determines the outcome of my personality and life’s purpose. As above, so below. I am going to kill myself. I can’t stand the way reading Twitter has warped my brain. This type of thinking is the dumbfuck Twitter mind. I need to pluck out the fucking propaganda, that, like a tapeworm, swallows my uniquely stupid individual thoughts… I want my own mind. Is that so wrong?! Why would I come to earth if not to be an individual? For GOD’S SAKE, I’M AMERICAN! My point about eugenics is that I feel like I’m not worthy to live and the messages I get from “The World” is that it wants to kill me.

I’m so sick of deterministic predictive pseudo-science. As far as astrology goes, I’ve never gotten into it beyond a superficial level, primarily because “everyone” is into it, and I’m obsessed with being the average of everyone else. I just want to fit in. IQ has to be something like astrology. Actually, why the hell is everyone so obsessed with boxing things in so quickly? I’m guilty of it, too. It is so much easier and it feels good. Oh, your IQ is 147, that’s why you’re so successful. Oh, you’re a Taurus, that’s why I fucking hate you. My IQ is 130, so that means I’m good at x, y, z, and will have a moderately successful life. Or is it because I was born on a Tuesday?
I want to BE FREE FROM PSEDUO SCIENCE. I do not want signs, I do not want magical healing. I do not like astrology, in particular. Although Vedic astrology seems scarier and more narrow, and therefore, it seems more true. But I want to be free from fixity. JUST DEFINE ME. TELL ME WHO I AM BECAUSE I CAN’T INVENT MYSELF WITHOUT YOU. QUANTIFY ME. GIVE ME A PERSONALITY TEST. PLEASE GOD, JUST MAKE WHO I AM EASILY CONSUMABLE AND COMPREHENSIBLE. If I can have a test that tells me who I am, I can live my life according to those slaverules, and I already have so many numbers to obey: My weight, my follower count, my bank account, the number of likes, my IQ, the income and taxation rate of my zip code, the time…

At this rate, I might as well kill myself. It’s just never enough. And I’m already predisposed to self-hatred because I’m fractured and stuck in 1994, 1997, 2002, 2004, 2007. I am killing myself. As we read and type…

Can’t I be the dumbest person in the world? The ugliest, the wickedest, the greediest, the most selfish? (This is also the social media virus: I’m the most online person in the world! I’m the most most everything of everyone!). I need to be something spectacular and exceptional. If I can’t be the best, I’ll be the worst. If only! I just have to be average. I have to accept being average. I have to accept being nothing special. Not only replaceable but unnecessary. Redundant. Literally the living dead. This is why I don’t fear AI or any other “humanoid” replacement. I have nothing that distinguishes me from a corpse, besides the fact that I breathe and am able to move and speak. It’s only that I desperately wish I could be a person.

Semi-recently, whenever my Alex Karp crush gets excited, it’s like a mini-high then a quick descent into, actually quite lovely, self-loathing. I like putting my crushes on unimaginably high pedestals so I can throw myself in the mud beneath. And the higher I elevate them, the lower I can debase myself. My husband put it perfectly: I put them on top of the pyramid and myself far below, then I cry, “why don’t you like me??!!??” while I paint myself in all my worst traits. [Obviously, he doesn’t even know me, it’s all in my head to validate my feelings of inherent unworthiness]. It’s really funny that way, is it BPD residue? But it’s so sick. I can’t help worshiping hot, powerful men who would be disgusted that I would fuck them. It’s the Catholic in me to whip myself and to believe I’m unworthy in the face of my Gods (hot men are the only thing that CAN SAVE ME [and a computer]). My life is so alienated from The External World and so incredibly cloistered, that’s how I end up with so many delusional fantasies. Outside of doctors, cashiers, and other service workers, as far as face-to-face human contact goes, I only interact with my husband and my one month old son, who is very wise… It’s probably more common now than ever before to socialize with no one. But I was doing it before it went mainstream. #RecognizeMe. #PleaseFindMeWorthyofSomething.

Sometimes, at my worst, I think even my parasocial crushes should be a little insulted that I like them… I’ll sometimes think that anyone I like, besides my son, probably has something terribly wrong with them. Me liking you is a sign that you’re doing something wrong. When I was 21, my brother called me a human leech and that has always stuck with me. Maybe I really am like some parasite that attaches itself to diseased hosts. A signal that you’re exposing a vulnerability you should patch. And once I don’t like you anymore, you’re healthier and better protected from vermin like me ❤️ [In my decrepit state, withered and blighted, I finally get to envision myself wielding some kind of power >.> it’s so ridiculous!!!]

It takes a level of severe loneliness to deploy this type of inverted arrogance and narcissism. Compensation for being so unremarkable: The only way I can feel special is to imagine myself as particularly terrible. When in reality, once again, to reiterate: I’m nothing, any which way, anywhere, at all.

In any case, I like to think about how AMAZING Alex Karp is, and how he’s like #so #intelligent and clever. And then I think about how he’d NEVER FUCK ME or even want me to BLOW HIM because I’m so FUCKING DUMB. And of course, ugly, too. My body is literally deformed since having a baby. All the fat has migrated to my thighs and lower stomach, worse than ever before. I’m like a 38 on top and a 46 on the bottom. I had a spoon shape body before, but now it’s like… I can’t actually describe it. Gravity assaults me. It’s awful. I was so hot before I got pregnant.

Dare I hope that it’s only been a little over a month since I had my son and that it’ll take some time to get back in shape? It’s so important, as a human leech, that I become pretty again, for my survival. I haven’t even gotten the green light to fuck yet, and I’m not going to work out and risk damaging my precious uterus… Plus, it’s hard with a baby. He still sleeps only about two hours at a time, though that’s getting better. And for my sanity, when I have time, I have to type online and make my little webpage collages to channel my hopelessness and despair… It’s faster than writing, faster than actually painting. All I need is a computer and I can type my life away.

So, not only am I so dumb, but I’m so ugly, too. I don’t even realize how ugly I am, which is frightening. I’m just this middling dimwit with barely any motivation for anything except trying not to kill myself and mitigating my extreme self-hatred. And taking care of my son and trying to maintain my marriage.

Once, when I was 17, and living with my aunt, she said that if I conformed to society and basically earned acceptance into the average/norm, then, I would have the status to “be myself.” I’ve always wanted to be accepted, and the great injustice of my life is that, as a three- and four-year-old child, my family hated me and punished me to hurt my mother. And not a single adult for my entire childhood protected me from abuse and neglect. However, given that I am of average intelligence, I do not have the cognitive ability to think my way out of my trauma. Regardless of that, my life is my fault. Everything I’ve done, I’ve chosen. I made my life this way.

After I gave up trying to physically kill myself and became exposed to a middle-class existence, I’ve since taken her advice and felt like if I could just BE ACCEPTED and FIT IN, then I could find myself somewhere. First, I needed to BELONG. But that isn’t going to fucking work. So, now, it’s like, if someone with REAL authority and REAL power could #AuthenticateMe, then I could be #Valid. If Alex Karp would let me blow him, then I could be allowed to exist. Then I’d be acceptable. Is that like, a sexual threat or something? That seems so twisted to say out loud, let alone think… I’m so sorry, I don’t “mean it”. Is it also because I’m so dumb and worthless that fantasies of a prince charming rescuing me are still keeping me going at almost 32 years old? But that’s the most wonderful thing about my extremely heterosexual domesticated existence. The necessity of powerful men to bestow upon me the allowance to exist. That’s so insane actually, but so real for me. I don’t have the authority to exist on my own. That’s why I had to get married, that’s why I had to have a baby. I want to be what everyone wants me to be. And I’ll kill myself, figuratively, to achieve that. It’s not like I was ever human to begin with. It’s not as if I’ve ever lived in the first place. There quite literally is no “me”. I’m the space between the triangulation of others’ needs. A servant. An apparition that dissipates as soon as it’s seen. Oh well, that’s just being a woman, I guess, probably. A woman with middling intelligence. Genius women get ahead. Beautiful women stand out. Average women have babies in apartments and wear plastic clothes and have zero followers and no talent. [This is like eating disorder logic except internal misogyny where other women who have a lifestyle similar to mine are well put together, charming, not falling apart at the seams, they’re lovable, they’re dedicated, they’re interesting, they make sacrifice seem empowering- they’re nothing like me, who is more wasteful than garbage and at least twelve times as useless].

So, in my SICK LOVE FANTASY OF ALL CONSUMING INFERIORITY, Alex Karp fucks beautiful genius women and beautiful sex workers who have Venusian gifts and talents and the intelligence to use them wisely. I’m a deformed middle-class stay-at-home mom with slightly above-average intelligence. I feel solace in this contrast. I like using the powerful to cement my inescapable helplessness. Everyone is God and I’m in hell. I only have meaning when I’m useless. My life is special when I’m the dumbest. I need everyone to be perfect, so I can languish in my resolute flaws and irreparable failures. I need a number assigned to me, so I can attach it all my worth and value and make sure it’s always worse and lesser compared to others. My place in society is to be prey, my place in society is to be a cell of the detritus homogenous mass on which those remarkable, worthy, and deserving luxuriate above, on the surface. I need these weird fixations to project the impossibility of being rescued, of being protected by power, to live out dreams of mattering, of being worth the air I breathe, because, in reality, I never will be. See, I don’t need a number to define me… I just need, um.. dreams .

(For the record, I’ve been obsessed with my crushes since I was teenager… And they’re not solely creepy pathetic masturbatory psychosexual dramas… Alex Karp is actually so dreamy and sexy and hot and funny and I love every interview he’s ever done and I love Palantir and the entire concept of the business…I’m also a retail investor… So it’s strictly for the stock price…But on the delusion loser level, I need these daydreams to survive and he’s the ultimate vehicle for this need. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be so self-aware about it, like it makes it worse. I feel bad that I’m using someone like this! Add that to the list of reasons I’m pathetic and guilty. On and on, the list never ends…)

Everything I do is embarrassing and dumb. My website sucks. My thoughts suck. I’ve never had enough time to truly dedicate myself to my interests. I don’t have enough motivation to care. Who cares? I’m just some random anyone. The world doesn’t need another idiot taking up space; thinking their thoughts deserve to be heard. I have nothing to offer. And yet here I am, being pathetic and exposing my stupidity to no one who will ever read this. The only mercy is that I’m so boring, I’m protected from genuine humiliation.


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