i hate you all :introduction

i agree you’re not original — but i am. and i’m tired of pretending i’m not.

no disclaimer this time.

i don’t care if this calls you out so hard it makes you feel exposed, attacked, or defensive.

i’m not here to protect your ego or tiptoe around your denial. this is my truth — raw, unfiltered, real. i’ve spent too long censoring myself for people who wouldn’t even listen. not anymore.

i’m not here to protect your comfort — especially not if it’s built on delusion. and i’m done coddling you.

so i’m starting here:

☘︎︎ where the pain was still fresh.

☘︎︎ where the grief hadn’t hardened yet.

☘︎︎ where i still believed someone might care enough to see me.

«mind re-installation» (2003) by bosniak & freefalll27. ✴︎you call it a phase, i call it survival. the code was never made for me to live.

rebellion 18:21pm 10/06/25

i’m not like you. and i never will be.

not because i’m trying to be “different” or “quirky.” no. i am nothing like you because i refuse to lock myself up in a cage of emotional distress and call it a choice.

you don’t see it — the years of grief, the quiet heartbreak that lives behind every forced smile and every hollow promise.

i was once a child, lost and confused by the rules forced on me, shamed for thinking outside the box. so i hid. i grew. i became who i am in secret, nurturing a fierce longing for something real, something whole.

but the more i yearned, the more i shed layers of myself, the more pathetic you all became.

i can’t pretend anymore. not for long. not with you.

you are lost — trapped in your cycles of lies, contradictions, and performances.

and it enrages me that i have to pretend just to fit in. that i have to dull my truth so you won’t run scared.

but i see you. i see through the façade. and i grieve for what you’ve lost, for what you refuse to fight for.

because i am not willing to settle for less. and neither should you.

the exhaustion of performing love

i don’t want this anymore. i don’t want to perform — to fake a smile, to bend myself in impossible shapes just to squeeze out a moment of connection that’s already hollow the second it starts.

i’m tired. so tired of being hurt and alone. i keep letting myself try, keep giving even when i know the outcome. because sometimes, sometimes i want to believe i’m not just a coward hiding in fear — that i am trying. but every time, the truth slams back in: none of it matters. none of it was real. they never were real.

i am alone. and that’s all i will ever be.

because love, the kind i want — real love — doesn’t exist for me here. for me in this world, at this time, with these people. if they aren’t performing for my love, they’ll fuck it up eventually because they don’t know how to be otherwise. what i want — being truly seen, held, loved for every broken piece — is a myth they can’t live up to. it’s impossible for them. and that breaks me.

(artist: ramb.d on ig, illustrator based in france.) ✴︎y’all better remember i’m black.

this is only the beginning.

the rest of this specific series goes deeper — into rage, grief, performance, girlhood, delusion, and the exhaustion of seeing everything too clearly.

if this made you uncomfortable, good. you haven’t seen anything yet.

next up: the rot behind the smile — and how none of you meet my standards.

stay tuned, or keep scrolling and stay blind. either way, i said what i said.

-𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚞ᥫ᭡.