Exposing Myself
No more views. No more reads. Fuck everything.
A picture is hung on my wall which reads “Joy”. Santa is featured prominently above the word. This has hung on my wall since last November. We are now entering May. We all know that joy is not a common topic in my writings.
Fuck Joy.
I have surrendered my focus on gaining followers on this platform as we are all well aware that followers mean jack-shit on this site. Whatever. No worries. I write because I love to write. Most of my articles have around 5 views and that is just the way I like it.
I’m tired. My fingers ache. Blah blah, you’ve heard all of this in my other writings.
I do my best to write these articles without worry of how others will react. I don’t care if I receive negative feedback. I’ve written negatively about my own parents, including personal stories which are certainly not flattering, knowing damn well that they read what I write (and I am genuinely thankful for this), and have received their complaints about the matter. I’ve written negatively about social issues and have, again, received complaints about the matter.
I do not seek to offend. I seek to express. When I express, I offend. Fuck it.
I am well aware that when an employer Googles my name then this platform pops up, with all of my writings about sex, complaints about life, graphic horror short stories written as though they come from me, exposing personal articles about my own struggles with mental health, and so on. I can only imagine what an employer, expecting this to be some bullshit fake personality similar to what we display on Linkedin, must think of me.
Feel free to skip this part.
Here’s a sexually explicit story featured prominently on my page written in the first person, featuring the POV of a sexually-deprived deviant working a surreal dead-end job. I wrote it with Valentine’s Day in mind. I love this piece.
Here’s a shitty half-assed article I wrote to meet my desired number of published articles per month (back when I used to do that nonsense). Strangely, you guys liked this one (I don’t).
This one’s about heroin, written in the first person. Written for Father’s Day. Disclaimer: this is not about my relationship with my dad. Like all of my creative writings, this is purely out of my own imagination. Don’t you dare fucking quote Carl Jung’s theory of The Shadow.
My point here is that most of my stories are offensive, gross, and usually fueled by my own struggles with mental illness. And this is just the way I like it.
Side note: I once had a teacher in high school tell me to never start a sentence with the word “and”. Fuck them. And fuck their advice.
Anyway, my point here is to write what you want. Fuck other people. Stephen King once (allegedly) said that writing should be done with a closed door. I hate Stephen King, I consider his writing to be the McDonald’s of writing, but this is a great fucking piece of advice.
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Offend others. Be rude. Be yourself. Don’t hide behind soft tissue walls of politeness fueled by insecurity and anxiety. If you offend your friends without being purposefully hurtful, then fuck them. If you are being purposefully hurtful, then fuck you. But don’t let this stop you. Offend, if you want to offend. Don’t be afraid. Tell your boss to fuck off. But expect to be fired.
Don’t expect to throw negativity into the void that is our lives and expect positivity to be regurgitated from the throat of our empty nothingness of God.
The world will give back to you what you give to it. Be positive. Love your friends. Cherish them. Love your family. Cherish them.
But only if they deserve it.
If they do not deserve love, then fuck them. Not literally. Metaphorically fuck them. If your biological family treats you like shit, then you have absolutely no reason to stick around. If you are financially dependent, then that is one thing. But if you are blessed with the opportunity to be financially independent without the help of your family, then by all means, cut out whoever is toxic. If you want, try to rebuild. But if they do not wish to be with you, then save yourself a world of trouble and remove them from your life.
I mentioned earlier that I made negative remarks about my family. Let me get this straight: I have a fucking wonderful family. My parents are not perfect, but there is never a moment where I do not doubt their love for me. My mom might be a cunt at times, but she is the best fucking mom I could ask for and I love her with every ounce of my being. Without her, I would not have made it to college. Without her, I would not have had a place to stay when I was binging on drugs through my late teens and early twenties. She has her problems, and I have mine. But she was a rock when I needed it most.
My dad’s alright. (just kidding, I love my pops about as much as humanly possible, but he’s way too wholesome to be featured in most of my writings.)
Then there’s Julia. Julie. Uliana. Ульяна. My wife. She’s a blessing in my life. An actual angel sent from heaven. I would never have pursued writing, my MS in Psychology, or my job if it wasn’t for her. I refer to her constantly in my writings, and she is often a character in my stories (loosely portrayed, but still occasionally present.
Anyway, I don’t know how this article evolved from the beginning to now, but it has finally reached its end.
I need a cigarette.
