I never really knew how much you all cared—or maybe I just wanted to believe the world was on my side. I’m standing here now, tongue out, shaking with deliberate mockery of it all. We’re in this together, right?

I believed it for a second.

I believed in the fundamental good of people.

When COVID hit—before crypto became a corporate personality—I lost everything. Over 100 BTC & ETH, gone. Not stolen. Burned by my own stupidity. But the money was the smallest loss. I lost my life in ways you can’t see. I hurt the person I loved most. I hurt myself. I was locked away for my own safety, trapped in my own head, carrying scars from a wild-west era most people only cosplay now.

Before that, I didn’t bother with people. I knew the rule: most people are cunts. I was one too—selfish, sharp-edged, efficient. Then I went through the fire, and something broke open. I learned I couldn’t live for myself anymore. I had to give my life to others just to earn my way back into this fucked, beautiful world.

Money, although functional. lost all of its allure to me. Life is better when you live for others. Giving feels exactly where I belong. But I never learned the boundaries. I give instinctively, carelessly all of me, and I get used. When that happens, the old version of me crawls back out—but it doesn’t fit anymore. The cruelty feels fake now. The armor is too small.

So I ended up back in hell.

And somehow, I’m grateful.

This hurt—the senselessness of it—is the cleanest pain I’ve ever known. It proved something to me: my care is real. My love is real. I care about my impact on people in a way that once felt alien. It pushed me to do the one thing I’d never managed before.

Live.

For real.

Free.

To become the kid again—wide-eyed, joyful, believing in goodness without guilt. Just me, hips swaying, laughing too loud, working my ass off for the chance to sit with new friends, drive each other insane, laugh until our stomachs hurt. Just once. Please.

I’m trying harder than I ever have. Doing impossible-for-me shit.

For too long, I lived by this:

> “If I make it out—if I’m still alive—I’ll come back for you. I’ll help you survive the way I had to.”

That promise has changed. Everything has. For better or worse—holy shit, has it changed.

I’m not going anywhere.

I belong in the fire.

Dancing.

Joyful.

Hips swaying.

Lavafire in Milano, snowzies miracle forecasted trope's trophy-sized snowballs, straight to the cunty face, grinning like the weirdo I'm thankful to be

---

I never really knew how much you all cared—or maybe I just wanted to believe the world was on my side. I’m standing here now, tongue out, shaking with deliberate mockery of it all. We’re in this together, right?

I believed it for a second.

I believed in the fundamental good of people.

When COVID hit—before crypto became a corporate personality—I lost everything. Over 100 BTC & ETH, gone. Not stolen. Burned by my own stupidity. But the money was the smallest loss. I lost my life in ways you can’t see. I hurt the person I loved most. I hurt myself. I was locked away for my own safety, trapped in my own head, carrying scars from a wild-west era most people only cosplay now.

Before that, I didn’t bother with people. I knew the rule: most people are cunts. I was one too—selfish, sharp-edged, efficient. Then I went through the fire, and something broke open. I learned I couldn’t live for myself anymore. I had to give my life to others just to earn my way back into this fucked, beautiful world.

Money, although functional. lost all of its allure to me. Life is better when you live for others. Giving feels exactly where I belong. But I never learned the boundaries. I give instinctively, carelessly all of me, and I get used. When that happens, the old version of me crawls back out—but it doesn’t fit anymore. The cruelty feels fake now. The armor is too small.

So I ended up back in hell.

And somehow, I’m grateful.

This hurt—the senselessness of it—is the cleanest pain I’ve ever known. It proved something to me: my care is real. My love is real. I care about my impact on people in a way that once felt alien. It pushed me to do the one thing I’d never managed before.

Live.

For real.

Free.

To become the kid again—wide-eyed, joyful, believing in goodness without guilt. Just me, hips swaying, laughing too loud, working my ass off for the chance to sit with new friends, drive each other insane, laugh until our stomachs hurt. Just once. Please.

I’m trying harder than I ever have. Doing impossible-for-me shit.

For too long, I lived by this:

> “If I make it out—if I’m still alive—I’ll come back for you. I’ll help you survive the way I had to.”

That promise has changed. Everything has. For better or worse—holy shit, has it changed.

I’m not going anywhere.

I belong in the fire.

Dancing.

Joyful.

Hips swaying.

Lavafire in Milano, snowzies miracle forecasted trope's trophy-sized snowballs, straight to the cunty face, grinning like the weirdo I'm thankful to be

---