>>47266>I'm smelling some hyperbole here. We need to make a distinction between wallowing in self-pity (like the time my mom would stay in bed with the lights off and the curtains closed all day long every day) and openly talking about the things that bother you about yourself or other people/the world. I presume most people have such thoughts, some much more often than others obviously, and I think if your approach is to just swallow all those blackpills in silence you'll be doing more harm than good, not just to yourself, you'll be helping perpetuate society's sicknesses
In the face of suffering there are those who so drown themselves in it that they fall into a deathly indolence (like your mom), or those who become so impatient with it that they fall into a irate frenzy, or those who seek relief from it in flagrant voluptuousness. I suppose the ideal would involve steering clear of these vices at least, but you're right about the passivity requiring more than just that.>what terrible hardships have you gone through? let's hear it (I'm always this sardonic dw it's nothing personal it's my schtick)
Well, terrible hardships are one thing, but I mean to say that, in my adolescence, I went through the whole psychological course: evaluations, psychologists, therapists, medications, assigned mentors, support groups, etc. with the diagnoses piled on: autism, adhd, ocd, anxiety, depression, etc. I'm criticizing the self-victimhood and over-accommodation which I know prevails here. Not to mention the over-reaction, a simple enough symptom of anxiety snowballed to the point where I'm undergoing an evaluation in front of a two-way mirror with a team of psychologists taking notes behind and then told I have a half-dozen mental disorders. Then there's the condescension, they validated anything I said since they were merely "neurotypicals" (they didn't let me forget it) and couldn't contradict "neurodivergent" experiences. Maybe I struggled to make friends, but, no fret, I could have a "mentor" basically forced to play the part. If not for certain exemptions from classwork, I wouldn't have even graduated high school, which anyway wasn't an actual high school since I was too far gone by then. It goes on. It's like raising a wild animal in captivity for too long that it can no longer be released back into the wild.
In my formative years, I felt too sorry for myself and inured myself to this noxious structure, and, too late, I realized that I therefore never actually was able to socially integrate. I had grown dependent on these artificial interactions and accomodations. Thus, it's my eighth year as a shut-in neet. I've missed every developmental milestone you'd expect. I never went to college, had a job, got my driver's license, went on a date (khhv, ofc), nor do I have any friends or acquaintances. You brought up how you'd choose death over adaptation to a corrupt world, for my part, I would choose it over this excessive accommodation from everybody else. I'm sure I could have followed along the psychiatrists' plans to use accommodations for college or employment. But it's a pathetic existence to me. I would rather simply fail. I don't bring this up to offload all the blame on psychology or anything, but this is how my adolescence was spent, and these are the results. I was treated like a case study, but I know things were not nearly so bad as they made it seem. As I said, in the beginning, I thought I was just anxious and depressed, and my mom thought it would help to see a psychologist. At that point, I was, compared to my peers, much more well-adjusted than I would be a few years into treatment. Those original symptoms of anxiety and depression turned into so much more. I know I never would have been some normie chad or whatever, but surely that psychiatric influence was not a postive one.