Oh, scream, America, scream

Believe what you see from heroes and cons.

Hello again, SP. In my entire time having been depressed, I have only written here once before. This was when I was upset over a trivial problem concerning someone (read: no one-hee hee!) loving me. Boo hoo. Bleeding fucking heart for myself back then. (Please note that I mean no disrespect whatsoever to those of you having relationship problems-I’ve never been good enough for anyone, so you guys are cooler than me! Not that being cooler than me is hard or anything, but I digress terribly.) This time, I write for a completely different reason. A much more grave reason; one more deserving of attention than my more petty complaints about the gilded nightmare that is my (actually very lovely) life. The story begins with what many stories here tell about: an eating disorder. At roughly the age of 12, I developed a case of anorexia nervosa, restricting my caloric intake to 900 calories per day in an effort not so much to lose weight, but to control myself in regard to eating habits. I had faced only light criticism of my eating behaviours in the past, but nonetheless felt it important to not only lose weight, but to be in control while so doing. As is superfluous to say, I came out alive, but not at all unscathed. For the very first time in my life, I had seen the other side of the coin. Everything that was wrong around me that I had previously never noticed or regarded as unimportant suddenly and jarringly came into view. Perhaps the most important of my discoveries was of the evils of capitalism, a system we have accepted as gospel for centuries. A system in which profiteers exploit workers to force them to make whatever our hearts desire (as we are unwitting or uncaring consumers). I learned about the Foxconn suicides, the (mis)treatment of workers in China, in Indonesia, in Guatemala; beyond. The next step, according to Marx, of course, was communism, as it was for me. Theory was fine, but my praxis got me in serious trouble with my hypocritical ‘socialist’ parents, who loved (and love) their corporate and governmental overlords almost as much as they love each other. I acknowledge that I owe my place in the world and the roof over my head to them, but when confronted even gently with the facts of the wrongs of their doings, they become defensive of their wasteful, harmful, and often pointless consumption of excess. They shut me up about such things with a guilt trip that had the range of a Bahamas cruise, but I still think exactly what I used to of them. Presented, as before, with the facts about how their participation in the failing experiment of economic neoliberalism (WHICH THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT, being red and all) could harm others, they, my inspirations up to that point in life, buried their heads in the sand and stopped listening to me. It was at this point that I learned I could not trust them, and it enraged me. My understanding was that I had been living with kindred sprits, but I was apparently dead wrong. There’s nowhere else to go now. I can’t ask people I don’t trust for help. It seems futile hiding my secrets from them, but they seem like shills enough for me to want to try. I know some spook from the NSA is probably reading this right now and trying to trace my IP, but I don’t bother with Tor anymore. I’m an insufferable little brat, I know, and someone is definitely going to come along and berate me for criticising either my parents or capitalism, but is there someone out there who knows a way out of this veritable Matrix that isn’t a steak knife through the chest? I thank anyone who’s read all the way though this monotonous, self-obsessed diatribe, at any rate.