This is a prelude to a full review for Apologies in Advance by Sylvan LaCue
I was raised to believe that everybody is an idiot; my parents put a lot of pressure on me to stand out from my colleagues, which resulted in a severe case of perfectionism. Harsh judgment from several figures of authority lead me to believe that unless I went to an Ivy League school & worked for the government, I’d become a drug addict who worked at McDonald’s, struggling to pay for my 16 year old wife’s abortion. Instead of teaching me that hard work leads to success, the “grown-ups” in my life emphasized the idea that ignorance leads to failure, which couldn’t be further from the truth (e.g. POTUS). This hopeless mindset manifested itself in the stifling of my creative expression, which resulted in a diagnosis of severe Major Depressive Disorder, and ultimately two attempts of suicide. I thought that intelligence was all that mattered, so I was never content with the knowledge I already had. Due to my indoctrination, “hard work” was synonymous with academia, and school was often more stressful than helpful. Thus, I possessed the mindset of someone who hated “working hard.” Despite spending all of my free time writing for my own Hip Hop blog at the age of 16, I couldn’t consider it as a viable occupation due to the fact that I found it enjoyable. In school I was an obnoxious, yet well-liked student who got good grades in English class, and struggled with other subjects. I was smarter than most of my classmates, but I didn’t realize it because I wasn’t rewarded with popularity. I believed that others valued intelligence over charisma, which is why I was too hopeless to be myself. I was a smart kid, but I was too afraid of others thinking I was a know-it-all douchebag to take full advantage of my own acumen. I could’ve exposed the foolishness of others who were morally wrong, but I didn’t have the confidence to engage in any verbal altercation, so I chose to stay silent. After 19 years of suffering, my sister was the only one who could provoke the realization that im/perfection is omnipresent. I was obviously familiar with the phrase “nobody’s perfect,” but what I really needed to hear was “everybody’s adequate.” My sister is the one who showed me that honesty in regards to my own mistakes and intentions makes me invincible. Anything is possible through hard work, but I unfortunately believed that everything was impossible without an unachievable degree of academic prosperity. The suppression of this universal law is a fundamental source of national discouragement, and society’s general welfare is hindered as a result. Once I discovered that I have nothing to hide, I gained the confidence to call out the ignorant nationalists who value “patriotism” over racial equity and personal freedom. If myself and others had the courage to stand up against ignorance, immorality, and governments’ distorted ideas of justice, there wouldn’t currently be an ugly juvenile prick contemplating nuclear war with a pudgy child.(?)
I’m no longer afraid to say everything I feel, no matter how personal it may be. I used to view certain emotions as weaknesses. I was insecure about my inability to socialize comfortably, and it only got more difficult once I began encountering “religious patriots” who wouldn’t accept my set of morals, so I operated under the guise of a politically oblivious “normie” with a conventional sense of humor. My desire to surpass my cohorts combined with the fear of being looked at as adversely unorthodox led to acute loneliness; I tried too hard to be loved by others by attempting to please everyone, and as a result I ended up feeling completely isolated. Once I met someone who made me feel important, I placed far more importance in her than I should have, and when it backfired my life came alarmingly close to an end. I was tortured by my own insecurities, and I wasn’t even conscious of it. There are far too many intricacies in life to epitomize it with generic blanket statements, which is why I always rolled my eyes when I was told to be myself. I thought I already was being me, which is why I hated myself so much. I heard others say “you can change who you are if you hate yourself,” which may be true, but that couldn’t be done at the time because I wasn’t aware of why I hated myself. Everybody has difficulties in their lives, so this article won’t cure anyone else’s depression; this is just my experience. However, an important step to emotional recuperation is understanding the source of your depression; my hope is that this will help anyone else who may be unsure of why they’re having a hard time by at least influencing them to contemplate what’s bothering them. Please share this with everyone you know because you could end up saving somebody’s life; a fun personality isn’t indicative of emotional stability.
Apparently this nigga is 34? Am I the only one who thought he was like 12? I don’t even know why the fuck I thought that…