It’s over, it always was.

[et168]

I realize nothing will change. I go through my day as usual, starving myself to stay lean, I smash my zygos untill I bleed for the thousandth time like it ever made a difference, I stare in the mirror desperate to one day see “a better version”. I keep going because stopping would mean admitting doubt. It was never “almost there” it was always over. The effort wasn’t insufficient; it was irrelevant. I close the mirror and the room feels empty in a way no physique ever filled. No messages, no proof of ascension, just me and the same chud I always was. And it hits me quietly: no matter how much I do, I’m alone and I always have been.