A letter to you, a letter to me.

I sit on a plane above the North Atlantic Ocean, flying from Iceland in first class to the “Greatest Country” in the World, ’Merica. Above my laptop balancing on the pull-out table, is the small TV screen displaying courtesy of Iceland Air beautiful scenic images of the Icelandic country side with a man and a woman exploring various touristy spots together. God, they seem forever in love, I want that love, you do too, hell, you thought you had that love too once, didn’t you? I did. Who am I? You’re right, who the fuck am I, why should you even read this. To your eyes, it’s just another post of the likes of captain cringeworthy (sorry mate) spewing his emotions or ‘life lessons’ out there. Why am I posting? - is a better question, well for the past four months, I have been reading the side bar, the red pill books, hitting on bitches, getting rejected by bitches, and absorbing all the information we rant on and on about but most of us don’t practice.

To cut to the chase, I’ve had a great fucking life. I have nothing to complain about at all. My family is wealthy, I have lived in various amazing countries, I got a scholarship to a D1 school for athletics, I have no debt, no loans, I have two passports, fucking bitches is easy for me with my accent and athletic lifestyle, I speak three languages, and fuck, I know I am interesting. This isn’t a brag fest, you don’t even know who the fuck I am, you don’t need to, but what you should know is that I feel so miserable. To some, I have it all, but to me, I feel empty inside. My best friends are from Rwanda, the both of them witnessed their own family gunned down in front of them in refugee camps at a young age, yet, today they are the happiest two guys I know. This is no lie; I wish it was. I have my family, my friends, money isn’t an issue, yet every morning I pop an anti-depressant because I feel so alone and lost, that everyone up to this point in my life I have given my “heart” to has either broken it or betrayed me. Why I choose to write this now, I don’t know, but I feel inspired to because it is almost as if an epiphany has hit me, after reading all the books, the connection was made, the catch 22 to our so-called life we live in. Isn’t it funny, what I want to do most, is what is going to kill that fantasy that I created in my head and feed this depressive cycle I can’t escape, influenced by the media, the advertising campaigns that are playing merely on a small TV screen on a plane above me and the blue pill ideologies I tolerate.

Go figure that the two girls that hurt me most in my life, my two most serious relationships were the two I confessed my love for, especially the last one. The one that brought me here, my god she was hot, soccer star, blond hair, beautiful body, got what she wanted whenever she wanted it, daddy’s little princess, the wittiest and probably the smartest girl I have come across, but as I began to know her and fall in love with her the mask slowly came off, fast forward ten months later where she knew she had me and I that I loved her, I was getting slapped across the face for breathing the wrong way, punched in my balls for wanting to have sex and even getting bitten across my back during one circumstance and not in a playful way. I did everything for this girl and she knew she had me. I didn’t even have an inch in me that wanted to walk away, that was the problem. Everyone has their war story; we could set up a thread and trade stories about how shitty the girl we thought we loved and would be buried next to drove a dagger through our hearts and twisted it slowly to watch us slowly crumble. We didn’t get let down easy, and guess what, you still entertain your war story if you resonate with this big time. Unfortunately, no one will write a book about your life love when you die.

This post isn’t for me, it’s for you. I’ve moved across the globe for a girl, I lied to my dad for money, a lot of money, in the false pretenses of setting up a big start up, and gave that money to a girl to fund her masters to her only leave me later on. I wronged my family, I wronged myself, I take advantage of the people closest to me, but you would walk across lava for the girl who no longer cares whether you lived or died? I still dream about my ex, I really do, I wake up, and I don’t smile as much as I use to because sometimes the first part of my day is acknowledging that my own subconscious mind when I sleep is playing tricks on me. The thing is, we all may miss our ex’s, but deep down we know it would be the worst thing in the world to go back to them. Why go back to what broke you? That is what I think is the difference between you and me is. I am not better than anyone here, you’re all my brothers, we’re in this together. But I hurt every day in the life I live daily, but I am aware of it. I land in two hours and the girl that is going to pick me up is going to drive me to my house and fuck my brains out, she told me that she is bringing her sex kit with her because she misses me so god damn much, this blond beauty has a boyfriend of two years, it makes me sick to do this to another man, but I do it because another guy would do it to me. Little does this guy know I will be knee deep in her tonight, and whilst I am fucking her a part of me will feel awful. My own mother, oh my mother, the sweetest woman on earth, who would take a bullet for me, I love her dearly, how I watched her cry and howl like a wolf on the couch throwing up when she found out my own father had been cheating on her for six months after 27 years of marriage.

This post seriously isn’t for the comments, or any of that bull shit. Starting from today, the moment I land, I will not be posting again for a very long time until I feel like I have found a job that makes me proud and I am fully independent from my family. I will be reading posts, I will be reading books, and I will certainly be sending my resume out to companies to start my career. Hell, I encourage you to look through my other posts, I was beta as fuck, still am, you can even read about the girl who broke my heart when I first came here for help, but most of you, just read, and read, and don’t do. But this is from me to you, I need help, maybe some of you can help me, I can’t do much of this anymore, this life of