
kurd
Okay
- Joined
- Aug 7, 2023
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Let’s stop pretending suicide is deep, tragic, or meaningful. It’s not. Suicide is the weakest move in existence. It’s a cuck move. It’s a pussy move. It’s the final confirmation that you let the game beat you.
The blackpill is harsh enough: life is rigged, looks matter more than effort, most people are doomed by genetics, status, and circumstance. But here’s the twist if you end it all, you don’t “escape” the blackpill. You embody it. You literally become its proof. You become the example people point at when they say: see, he couldn’t handle it.
Suicide is folding. It’s rage-quitting life like some low-tier NPC who couldn’t hack it. You think you’re taking control? You’re not. You’re handing all your power to your pain, your trauma, your enemies. You’re giving everyone who ever doubted you the final laugh. That’s not rebellion it’s submission.
What’s actually hard? Waking up every day in a rigged system and still refusing to disappear. Grinding through rejection, loneliness, failure, and knowing the odds are stacked against you that is strength. That’s the only real flex left. Anyone can put a gun in their mouth. Anyone can swallow pills. That’s easy. The hard path is enduring when everything screams at you to give up.
So don’t glorify it. Don’t romanticize it. Call it what it is: the coward’s exit. Suicide isn’t “ending the pain.” It’s passing the pain to everyone else while branding yourself as someone who couldn’t handle the fight.
You only get one chance at existence. If you’re dealt a bad hand, fold if you want but just know, folding is the ultimate pussy move. Staying alive, even in hell mode, is the only way to actually spit in the face of the universe.
The blackpill is harsh enough: life is rigged, looks matter more than effort, most people are doomed by genetics, status, and circumstance. But here’s the twist if you end it all, you don’t “escape” the blackpill. You embody it. You literally become its proof. You become the example people point at when they say: see, he couldn’t handle it.
Suicide is folding. It’s rage-quitting life like some low-tier NPC who couldn’t hack it. You think you’re taking control? You’re not. You’re handing all your power to your pain, your trauma, your enemies. You’re giving everyone who ever doubted you the final laugh. That’s not rebellion it’s submission.
What’s actually hard? Waking up every day in a rigged system and still refusing to disappear. Grinding through rejection, loneliness, failure, and knowing the odds are stacked against you that is strength. That’s the only real flex left. Anyone can put a gun in their mouth. Anyone can swallow pills. That’s easy. The hard path is enduring when everything screams at you to give up.
So don’t glorify it. Don’t romanticize it. Call it what it is: the coward’s exit. Suicide isn’t “ending the pain.” It’s passing the pain to everyone else while branding yourself as someone who couldn’t handle the fight.
You only get one chance at existence. If you’re dealt a bad hand, fold if you want but just know, folding is the ultimate pussy move. Staying alive, even in hell mode, is the only way to actually spit in the face of the universe.