"It's all your fault."
That's basic dogma around here. Your life is shitty because you are shitty. You are shitty because of what you've done, what you've failed to do, what you're doing and/or what you're failing to do.
This is what you get if you're lucky enough to find this sub. The more you heap shit on your head, the more the dudes around here do the same. Everybody's in agreement. Your shittiness is your fault.
So, after your victim pukes and whining about that mistreatment, all that shit heaped on your head fertilizes some seeds of growth. You start to realize others are in various stages of shittiness too and seem to be winding their trunks from the dark and growing towards whatever rays of light they can find. You imitate them and try to grow. You stumble here, you advance there. You tie yourself up in knots; you learn how to untie knots. You keep taking stock and seeing inklings of progress and this motivates you to press on.
Eventually, you get to a point where your finances are where you want then to be, you are attractive enough to get eyefucked relatively frequently, you know how to make a woman shake like an earthquake and squirt like a geyser, and you generally can hold your own in any social situation.
You take stock again and are pleased. Fuck, you're practically giddy. "Thank you, MRP! Thank you!" you say, in sincere appreciation.
But from that moment forward, the money doesn't amount to much, the eyefucks don't tingle like they used to, and the pussy doesn't taste as sweet.
You try to regain that joy. You perfect all your MRP ninja hacks on your life. You internalize them. Fuck, you even dream in MRP jargon. And they all work just fine, just as they always have. But the joy's still fading. So, you go back to try to find some more of them, but they're still the same ones. And the joy still fades. Then you try to find some previously unseen nuance, but that's shortlived too.
Eventually, you feel like you've wrung everything out of MRP you can get. And you feel dread - the dread that if this is as far as MRP goes, then this is as far as you can go. The dread of peaking.
It's because you forgot that it's all your fault. You racked up a whole slate of wins, but who did you credit? MRP? Did MRP make that bank? Did MRP lift that iron? Did MRP pound that pussy? No. MRP didn't do that shit. You did.
Sure, MRP offered a salad bar of characters on an electronic screen, but you're the one heaped them on to your own fucking plate and scarfed them down your own way. You're the one who took that meal and turned it in to an honest day's work and a soul-satisfying shit to boot.
Sure, you got attaboys and asskicks from the dudes here. But none of them ever really gave any shits about whether you live, die, succeed or fail.
And that's the best thing they could give you, because their not giving a fuck about you is how you're reminded that ...
it's all your fault, wins included.
You are the fucking man who made you happen.
Do it some more.