Bear Blog Draft: Screaming Into the Void is Therapy
Bear Blog Draft: Screaming Into the Void is Therapy
No, I’m not screaming because I need help. I’m screaming because this world is deaf.
I’m screaming because people walk past pain and pretend it’s part of the décor. Because everyone’s too damn comfortable letting things rot as long as it doesn’t inconvenience them.
This blog? It’s not a cry for attention. It’s my release valve. It’s the only place I can pour gasoline on truth and not get reprimanded for the smoke.
I blog so I don’t break things. I blog so I don’t bury myself under silence. Because silence may be golden, but it’s also the grave where people like me get laid to rest when we stop pretending we’re okay.
They say, “Just be happy.” Cool. Let me tell you what happy looks like: It’s me, doing my job at Sprouts while micromanaged by a dill weed with a clipboard fetish. It’s me, hauling frozen food and smiling anyway—not because life’s sweet, but because I refuse to fold in public.
It’s me clocking out, riding a bus while strangers breathe too loud, and still finding a reason not to scream in real life—because I already screamed here.
This is therapy. This is self-preservation wrapped in sentences. It’s a digital roar. One that doesn’t ask for permission.
And if you think these words mean I need saving? Congratulations, you’ve missed the point. Because I’m not praying for a lifeline—I am the lifeline. And if you test that? I’ll fold your ego like a five-dollar lawn chair from Family Dollar. Cheap. Crinkled. Useless under pressure.
They say I’m dramatic. They say I’m unhinged. I say—good. Because you need to be a little unhinged to stay sane in a world that gaslights you for noticing the obvious.
The world is broken. And I will not pretend it’s fine just to make people comfortable.
Normal people? They drink the Kool-Aid and call it mindfulness. They breathe in denial and exhale toxic positivity. They cry when reality bites because they never developed fangs of their own.
I write for the misfits. The tired ones. The people who laugh at funerals because they’ve already died a thousand quiet deaths and came back without applause.
This isn’t a breakdown. It’s a recording. A system log of every insult I swallowed, every injustice I clocked, and every time I was told to “chill out” while the world kept burning.
I’m not angry for attention. I’m angry because no one should be this numb to what we all go through.
So I scream into the void. Not because I need a savior— But because the echo reminds me I’m still alive.
Let the world call it crazy. I call it survival. And I call it mine.
Addendum: Cyberpunk Gospel Protocol
“I blog so I don’t break things. I blog so I don’t bury myself under silence. Because silence may be golden— but it’s also the grave where people like me get laid to rest when we stop pretending we’re okay.”
Truth.exe Execution Protocol Activated
I opened my mouth. Spoke logic. And the system flagged me for termination. Turns out, “Death” wasn’t a punishment. It was the perk for speaking without filters. They don’t fear madness. They fear clarity—especially when it smiles and carries receipts. In this world, silence is gold… but truth? Truth is malware. And I came pre-installed.
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