Everything is bullshit. Honestly, that’s the only way I can even begin this anymore. I wish I could sugarcoat it, or build up to it, or pretend there’s some hopeful arc or graceful easing-in to the point, but there isn’t. Because everything is bullshit. Right wing, left wing, center, capitalism, communism, socialism, fascism, anti‑fascism, democrats, republicans, libertarians, progressives—every last one of them feels like utter fucking bullshit to me lately. And I don’t mean that in the “I’m a centrist now” way that some people might assume. No. If anything, it’s the opposite. It feels like I went so far left, so deep into the trenches of principles and ideals and compassion and justice, that I ended up circling back into this emotional landscape where I’m just sick of everyone. Not compromised. Not softened. Not moderated. Just tired. Disillusioned. Let down in every direction I look. And honestly, feeling more alone than ever in that realization.
And maybe that’s the part that hurts the most. Not just the disillusionment, but the solitude that comes with it. Because when you start calling out every group, when you finally stop pretending one side “just needs a little push” or that the other side “has a few bad apples,” people start assuming you’re drifting to the center. As if pointing out universal bullshit automatically makes you a centrist. No. Sometimes it’s not centrism. Sometimes it’s clarity. Sometimes it’s going so deep into the left that you start seeing the rot everywhere—even in the places you used to hold close. And that’s where I’m at. I’m not abandoning my values. I’m not abandoning compassion, justice, progress, human rights, or systemic change. I’m just done pretending the people and institutions claiming those values actually live by them. I’m done pretending the labels mean shit. I’m done pretending any institution gives a fuck.
And I think what really broke me, what cracked something inside me in a way I can’t patch up, was the 2025 government shutdown. The longest shutdown ever. The one that exposed, in the clearest possible way, just how empty and hollow and self‑serving literally every political faction has become. Republicans, predictably, behaved like the extremists they are. But the democrats—my god, the democrats—showed their true colors too. Spineless, complicit, enabling, performative. And I reached a point in myself I didn’t expect: I’m done with them. For real. Done in a way I’ve never been before. Done in a way that isn’t just frustration, but genuine abandonment. And at this point? I hope they lose the midterms. I really do. I don’t care anymore about the fear‑mongering about what “might happen.” People keep warning, “If democrats lose, fascism will come.” And I just laugh now—bitterly, hollowly—because what the fuck are you talking about? It’s already here. It’s been here. We’re living in it. The only difference is that democrats have been better at disguising it. Better at giving the illusion of resistance while being fully in bed with the very forces they pretend to stand against.
Democrats are fascists too. Sure, republicans are worse, more blatant, more open about their authoritarian fantasies. But democrats? They’re fascists in polished language, in empty rhetoric, in soft‑toned complicity. They enable the same violence, the same cruelty, the same hierarchies, the same empire. They just dress it in diversity panels and focus‑grouped slogans. And yet so many people still cling to this delusion that democrats are going to “turn things around,” that they’re “our only hope,” that they “care about democracy.” It’s embarrassing at this point. Delusional. And I can’t pretend anymore. I refuse to. Because watching democrats beg republicans for negotiations during the shutdown, watching them cave, compromise, fold, lick boots, and then act shocked that nothing changed—I realized just how far gone this system is. There is no meaningful difference. Not in the ways that matter. Not in the ways that would actually save people.
And if all of that wasn’t enough, then came the House vote—an almost unanimous vote—to release the Epstein files. And I swear, that vote was the moment I realized just how deep the performance goes on both sides. People across the spectrum cheered. Right-wingers, left-wingers, centrists, libertarians, conspiracy theorists, normies—everyone started celebrating like this was going to be the big shakeup. The reckoning. The accountability moment. The one thing everyone could supposedly agree on. And I’ve just been sitting here thinking: are you all serious? Are you really falling for this shit again? Again?
Here’s the thing about that vote: yes, I want accountability. Yes, I want justice. But let’s be fucking real. The Epstein files aren’t going to be the bombshell people think they are. Sure, maybe we’ll get a few arrests. Maybe a couple high‑profile trials. Maybe a media frenzy. Maybe a couple people get prison sentences. But will this change the system? Will it shake the foundations of power? Will it fix anything? Will it heal anything? No. It won’t. It never does. We’ve seen this exact pattern play out over and over and over again for decades. Watergate, Iran‑Contra, Church Committee, CIA scandals, Wall Street scandals, clergy abuse scandals, tech monopolies, intelligence leaks, billionaire corruption—every scandal gets branded “the scandal of the century,” and nothing changes. They either get acquitted, or the charges get dropped, or they serve a reduced sentence, or they do a few months in some minimum‑security facility, or they just pay a fine and walk away. Meanwhile, the system stays intact. The same corrupt power structures remain. The same violence continues. The same hierarchies hold.
So to see folks acting like this time is different, like this unanimous vote is proof of something meaningful, is just another reminder of how performative the entire political machine is. They voted almost unanimously not because they care, but because they know it doesn’t threaten them. It’s all a show. A distraction. A spectacle meant to pacify the public. Bread and circuses, dressed in transparency. A performance of accountability with none of the substance. And to see so many people across ideologies buy into it feels like another punch in the gut. It’s like watching people cheer for fireworks while the house burns down behind them. And when you try to point that out, they look at you like you’re the problem.
And that’s why I’ve been feeling so done with everyone lately. Not just a few folks. Not just one side. Everyone. Every group feels so deeply entrenched in their own ideology, their own community, their own bubble, that they can’t see past it. They don’t see the bigger picture. They don’t see the patterns. They don’t see how they’re being played. They don’t see how predictable the whole thing is. They don’t see how nothing they’re fighting about is actually being addressed at the systemic level. They think they’re right. And the absurd part? They are right. And they’re also wrong. At the same time. Everyone is both right and wrong, simultaneously, layered in contradiction. And maybe that’s why I feel so alone. Because I’m standing in that contradiction, acknowledging it, sitting with it, watching everyone else pretend they’re the only ones who see the truth.
And I know how it sounds. I know it probably reads centrist as hell. But I swear it’s not. My values haven’t changed. I still believe in compassion, in justice, in progressive policy, in care for the marginalized, in dismantling hierarchies, in systemic change, in equality, in solidarity, in liberation. What’s changed is my faith in the groups claiming to represent those things. What’s changed is my patience for the bullshit. What’s changed is my tolerance for delusion. I’ve been forced to see past the labels, past the teams, past the branding, past the hero‑villain scripts. And what I’m seeing is bleak. Because once you see it, once you recognize that almost everything is a smokescreen, you can’t unsee it.
And maybe that’s why I’m this disillusioned. Because the world is on fire. Literally and metaphorically. The healthcare system is broken. Infrastructure is falling apart. Prices keep rising. Housing is borderline impossible. The rich keep getting richer. The poor keep getting poorer. Climate collapse is accelerating. Gaza is being massacred. Sudan is in genocide. There are wars all over the globe. Russia and Ukraine are still locked in endless destruction. And despite all of this—despite all of this—our political system is wasting time on symbolic gestures and performative votes that do absolutely nothing for the people who need help the most.
And it hits me every day now: nothing is really being challenged. Not at the level that matters. Not in the way that fundamentally reshapes society. Everything is stagnant. Everything is slow decay. Everything is performance. And everything is bullshit.
And maybe that’s the hardest part. Not the anger. Not the hopelessness. But the loneliness. Because when you step back, when you stop aligning with the tribes, when you stop pretending the labels mean something, you end up drifting into this strange emotional space where you see the flaws everywhere, and it feels like nobody sees them with you. Or if they do see them, they’re too afraid to say it. But I’m saying it. I’m admitting it. I’m not hiding from it anymore.
Everything is bullshit. And I’m exhausted from pretending otherwise.