What The Fuck Is The Point Of Being A Man?
Weird mood today. It’s Friday evening, and it’s been a long week. I’ve worked eight 10 hour shifts in the last nine days. I’m at my wit’s end. I’m just feeling kind of down, kind of torn, and finally, wondering what the hell I continue to do everything I do for. I’ll snap myself out of this mood in a bit – after all, your state is controllable – but I thought I’d at least sit down and see what raw emotion I could capture with this.
Is there any fucking light somewhere at the end of all this?
I’ve always done everything right.
I went to school when I was a small child, and I behaved myself. I didn’t pull girls pigtails, I didn’t break stuff, and I got good grades. I’ll always remember how all the girls loved me because I was so nice. My mom always tells the story about how when I was in first grade, and got invited to a girl’s birthday party. There were about twenty girls and I was the only boy. Jesus Christ, if I could go back in time, I would go punch six-year-old me in the face and tell him to start pulling those pigtails, ya fucking idiot.
Middle school sucked. I was fat, people teased me, I wasn’t part of the cool kids. I got in trouble for accidentally slapping a girl on the ass in dance class within the first month of starting middle school. I should add that I was the new kid at the school, I attended a private school where most of the people in my grade had gone to school together their entire lives.
I had a huge crush on that girl and it crushed me when she manipulated the entire class into basically ignoring me.
Fuck, I have no idea where am I going with this…
So anyways, like the good little fucking faggot I was, I sat down and took it up the ass. Never stood up to that cunt and the pussy school administrators.
Fast forward to high school, where I again switched schools. This time I went to a charter school, with class sizes of about twenty – in an entire grade. Public school spit me up and chewed me out when I was in elementary school, and I was petrified. Looking back, I might be even a little ashamed of it. Once again, the nice guy – at least for a while. I became a little bit more of a dick and was surprised to find I had more friends.
Eventually, in college, I got into a relationship and did this…
Several years ago, prior to my red pill education, I was in a blissfully miserable long term relationship with a girl I had met at college. Yes, you read that correctly – blissfully miserable. Meaning that I hated my life with a passion, yet somehow it seemed that this was how it was supposed to be. I did everything in my power to please her, practically apologized 24 hours a day, and my entire life orbited around her schedule, needs, and desires. I stayed in this poisonous relationship for nearly two years, as it slowly wore away at my soul.
Then I did this…
In the case of my relationship, I went the last eight months of that relationship without getting my penis touched once. So much for not fapping. On top of that, we lived together in the same apartment for three of those months, and the other five we regularly spent five nights a week in the same bed. Sometimes, she would put little stars on my calendar for nights that she agreed to get intimate with me, but then, when sexy time rolled around, she would rescind that offer, usually because she had a headache. Shocking.
Yes, you read that correctly – LITTLE *STARS*. But wait, there’s more…
Girlfriend: “So…I’m feeling kind of distant from you lately. There is this guy at work who likes me. Do you mind if I like…hook up with him? To see if it will rekindle our spark?”
I’m not proud of it, but I told her to go ahead, but warned her I might not be around after. I also told her not to talk to me until after. She went over there, and nothing happened (supposedly). She showed up in tears and said she was sorry. I forgave her at the time and things resumed as normal, but the relationship only lasted another month, fortunately.
I promise, I’m getting into the real inspiration about this post, because deep down, I know the thoughts that provoked me to write this.
I continued doing the right thing, by getting good grades in high school and getting accepted at a good college. In college, I worked (relatively) hard enough to keep up decent grades, and I took extra classes so I could finish a semester and begin my career in the big and exciting real world! Full of office politics and bullshit.
I got my well-paying career, and then bought a nice car and moved into a nice apartment, in a very nice area of San Diego. Of course, I then furnished it with nice furniture.
Nice, nice, nice – does it EVER end?
Again, up to this point I have DONE EVERYTHING RIGHT THAT EVERY SINGLE YOUNG MAN HAS BEEN TOLD TO DO FROM THE DAY THEY ARE BORN.
- Was nice and quiet in my youth, didn’t disturb people and didn’t cause chaos
- Didn’t pull girls pigtails
- Did what everyone told me to do
- Listened to others when I was *supposedly* in the wrong, which was nearly every time. After all, I was “young and foolish”
- Got good grades
- Got a car and a job when I turned 16
- Went to college
- Got a degree, and in a good field
- Got a good job
- Worked hard
- Bought a nice car to show my status
- Moved into a nice apartment and filled it with expensive shit
- “Paying my dues” and I know they’ll never be paid
To put things in perspective, I have worked my ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE to get to the point where I am at, I have done EVERYTHING right according to the American Society Handbook To Rape Young Men™ – and WHAT DO I HAVE TO SHOW FOR IT?
A car I can’t afford, an apartment that is nearly 50% of my net income, a $100k FUCKING PIECE OF PAPER (thankfully I only owe $5k on it) on my wall that says Bachelor’s in Economics, a career in COMPUTERS where I use ZERO economics, a office where I must censor myself in fear of being fired, and a shit load of expensive materialistic toys that I bought because – well, I was bored.
Ahh…the car. My Mustang, my baby. I am selling her tomorrow, and this is the entire reason I’m feeling down today. I love that car. I’ve always loved cars and racing. But I’ve woken up and realized that she is not a necessity, and her $400 monthly payment, $200 insurance premium, and $150 in premium gasoline is taking its toll on my finances.
But once again, I’ve done everything right.
Answer me this, what kind of chance does a young boy have in today’s American world? Especially one who has a genuinely kind heart, but lacks the self esteem to push himself forward and go against the curve? That young boy has no chance. ZERO. The way things are, I see how young men like Elliot Rodger snap.
Again, a young man has no chance. What the fuck is the point of even trying, I wonder at times. Here I am, now laying down steps to get out of my job, but it’s nonstop and tireless. I spend hours writing this blog, working on websites, and working on other various income projects.
My relationship can be tiring too, but that’s certainly not to say I’m not happy – I truly am. But, I also know not to be a fool. I know I can never stop leading, being dominant/masculine mentally and physically, fucking her senseless, and that I always have to be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice and return to this should she cross a line.
It’s just that, for a man…the work never stops.
Meanwhile, it makes me upset that any decent looking girl can have the fucking world, hardly have to work – and it’s simply because she’s blessed with a pair of tits. Any decent looking, pleasant girl has the ability to wife up a beta provider to pay for all her shit with his good college degree, his good job, and all of his material possessions he can hardly afford. You know, because he’s a nice guy and did things right.
See what BEING NICE does to you? It spits you out like the worthless shit you are.
All that shit about pain making you stronger, about how you grow from it? It’s a lie. To me, the future seems hopeless. The men who have persevered on the trail of niceness before me end up in divorce courts, with their ex-wife living in the house they built, driving the cars they could barely afford, all while making unrealistic child support payments.
At the beginning of this post, I asked this: Is there any fucking light somewhere at the end of all this?
I see none. I see the hand I have been given, and I see how the game plays out. I see no way to win. Men are just along for the ride, searching desperately for the stream of light at the end of the tunnel, until they fade to permanent unconsciousness.
Tomorrow though, I’ll wake up.