#psychologicaltruth

He wasn’t born into peace. He wasn’t raised by balance. He arrived into a world of claw, fang, flood, and famine — and instead of adapting, he drew a line in the dirt.

The wind blew. The beasts circled. The rain fell. And he stood up anyway. Not to pray. To declare war.

🔥 He Didn’t Fit Into the Ecosystem.

He Broke It.

Everything before him was cyclical. Feed. Flee. Breed. Repeat.

Then came man — and with him, the first species to look up at the stars and demand they explain themselves.

He didn’t accept hunger. He forged tools. He didn’t accept darkness. He built fire. He didn’t accept fear. He named it — and kept walking.

🧬 The Moment the Food Chain Got Nervous

You think Earth welcomed us?

It didn’t. It watched us rip fur from predators and stitch coats from the remains.

It watched us stack stone, redirect rivers, and map the moon while still bleeding from the knuckles.

And when it tried to push back — with flood, drought, volcano, plague?

We didn’t run. We studied it. And then we built homes out of its bones.

🌍 Nature Wasn’t Our Mother.

It Was Our First Opponent.

And we didn’t ask to win.

We just refused to lose.

That’s why the forest quiets when we step in. That’s why birds change flight patterns around cities. That’s why even lightning avoids skyscrapers unless it has to.

The world doesn’t fear us. It simply remembers what happened when it didn’t take us seriously.

🧠 Humanity Was Never Just a Species.

We Were the Planet’s Final Test.

Some species evolved strength. Some evolved speed. We evolved defiance. And defiance built everything you call “civilization.”

We don’t live on Earth. We decided Earth would live with us. And we’ve never let it forget.

🧠 LITERARY DISCLAIMER

This post is a satirical exploration of mankind’s relationship with survival, biology, and dominance mythology. Any emotional reaction, reflection on human nature, or spontaneous adrenaline rush is a natural result of literary metaphor and cadence-based writing. This is not an attack. It’s a mirror held to history. You are invited to interpret accordingly.

🧠 QUOTE REBLOG PACK™

“We didn’t evolve into the world. We dared it to make space for us.”

“Man didn’t climb the food chain. He lit it on fire and rewrote it.”

“Every creature on Earth plays a role. Humanity wrote the script.”

“Nature has no memory. But it hesitates when it hears footsteps like ours.”

“We didn’t survive the wild. We corrected it.”

📡 CALL TO ACTION

I joined for structure and benefits. I got PTSD from a powdered donut and a man named Staff Sgt. Painstroke.**

It’s 1997.

Clinton’s president.

Titanic’s in theaters.

And I, in all my 18-year-old glory, just got off a C-130 straight into military basic training brain rot.

I’m talking shaved head, eyes wide, pants too big, and dreams still intact.

Spoiler: they wouldn’t be for long.

This is the story of how I—brilliant, brave, and deeply dumb—got annihilated in front of the Snakepit for chasing donuts like some sugar-starved raccoon.

🥯 ENTER: THE SNAKEPIT

The Snakepit is not a place.

It’s a military fever dream built from the collective trauma of everyone who’s ever disrespected chow hall etiquette.

You think it’s just a table.

Wrong.

It’s where MTIs (Military Training Instructors) sit like apex predators.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hunting.

And on that fine Texas morning, I—newly shaven, spiritually soft—decided to waltz up to the dessert tray like I had f*cking rights.

MTI: “TRAINEE! WHAT THE F*CK DO YOU THINK THIS IS, A GODDAMN BUFFET?”

Me, mouth full of Boston cream: “…Sir?”

I didn’t chew.

I didn’t blink.

I just stood there, frosting leaking out the corner of my lips like a war crime.

A half-bitten donut in my hand.

And three MTIs rising from their thrones like wrathful calorie-counting demigods.

🧠 THE FEAR HAD A FACE

They say you’ll never forget your first kiss.

I say: you’ll never forget your first smoke session in front of a hundred other terrified airmen while a Boston cream donut mocks you from the floor.

“TRAINEE! YOU WANT DESSERT?! DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY!” “TRAINEE! THIS AIN’T NO GODDAMN HONEYMOON!” “TRAINEE! I DIDN’T KNOW WE SERVED PASTRIES IN COMBAT ZONES!”

They were yelling in acronyms, bro.

Like war ASMR.

“WHY YOU AT MY TABLE, EATING MRE—MINIMUM RESPECT EXPECTED!” “YOU WANT A PTC?! A PERSONALIZED TRAUMA CYCLE?!”

🇺🇸 “AIR FORCE IS EASY,” THEY SAID

Yeah?

Then explain how I got verbally waterboarded for 12 minutes straight by men who looked like they were carved from rage and powdered protein.

I walked into that chow hall thinking it was Golden Corral.

I left like it was Vietnam.

I wasn’t even hungry anymore.

I was spiritually full.

Full of shame, regret, and what may have been PTSD sprinkled with powdered sugar.

😵 “YOU GOT DONUT BALLS, TRAINEE?”

Yes, an MTI actually yelled that at me.

Not “balls.”

Donut balls.

Like it was a slur.

And I knew, in that moment, that I had become folklore.

Future trainees would whisper, “Remember the kid who reached for dessert on day three?”

That’s me. I’m dessert-boy. I’m pastry-shame legend.

📉 THE DONUT TO DEMORALIZATION PIPELINE

Let me break down what happens when you fck up at the Snakepit:

You approach the forbidden zone.

You spot the tray of innocent-looking glazed goods.

You forget that the Air Force doesn’t give a single flying f*ck about your blood sugar.

You reach.

The table erupts like a Marine birthday party—just without the cake or celebration.

You die inside.

The worst part?

The donut was mid.

I got publicly executed for mid.

🥵 THE PUSHUP APOCALYPSE

“FRONT LEANING REST POSITION, MOVE!”

If you’ve never done pushups with three MTIs in your face calling you “Gordon Ramsay of stupid decisions” while your buddies look away like witnesses to a crime scene—

Then you haven’t truly served.

They had me doing flutter kicks while screaming,

“FLY, DONUT BOY, FLY!”

I swear one of them started beatboxing cadence:

“Down, up, pastry pump, down, up, donut dump—”

💡 BUT THE LESSON?

Never get between an MTI and his f*cking reputation.

Because when I reached for that donut, I didn’t just grab dessert.

I declared war on discipline, decorum, and decades of chow hall trauma.

I disrespected the ritual.

And in the military, disrespect is punishable by:

Immediate regret

Pushups in Hell

Nicknames that follow you until retirement

🤡 THEY NEVER LET ME FORGET IT

For the next six weeks:

I was “Krispy Kreme” on every roster.

Every time I passed a vending machine, someone whispered, “You good, man?”

During chow line, MTIs would fake-reach for donuts and say, “Hey Trainee, wanna relive your war crime?”

I became folklore.

Not because I was brave.

But because I was hungry. And dumb.

🏁 THE AFTERMATH

Years later, I still wake up sometimes, hearing:

“DONUT BOY! WHAT’S THE GLYCEMIC INDEX OF FAILURE?!”

But you know what?

I made it.

I passed.

And I’ll never forget that moment of deep, personal shame wrapped in a golden-brown shell and filled with disappointment custard.

🧠 REBLOG if you’ve ever committed a food felony

👣 FOLLOW for more shame-soaked flashbacks

🗣️ COMMENT if your spine curled reading this

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is written for the purpose of artistic expression, cultural commentary, and psychological exploration of social and gender dynamics. It does not condone or encourage violence, harassment, or discrimination of any kind. Any references to power, strength, restraint, or critique are metaphorical, symbolic, and rooted in historical and cultural analysis. This is not a call to action — it’s a cultural mirror. If you feel offended, ask yourself if it’s from actual harm — or from seeing something you hoped no one would say out loud.

You’re reading this, right? Eyes open. Brain clicking. You feel like “you.”

Good. Now here’s the part that should ruin your afternoon:

You’re going to forget this. Not just eventually — probably in an hour.

And when you remember it again later, maybe tomorrow, maybe three years from now in the shower…

Who were you during the time you forgot it?

I'll tell you:

Not you. Not the “you” that’s reading this now. Not the “you” that knows what this means. That version of you? Dead.

Replaced. By the meat puppet that wandered off and played pretend until this post found you again.

I. Memory Isn’t You. It’s Just What You Cling To When You’re Falling Apart

We like to think memory makes us who we are. But here’s the dark truth:

You don’t actually remember most of your life. You just remember the memories of remembering it.

You are a self-replicating tape loop. A carbon-based echo chamber that calls itself “I.” And the gaps? The days you dissociated? The weeks you just went through the motions?

That wasn’t you. That was someone wearing your face.

And you’re only realizing it now because I’m telling you. Which means this version of you — the one that’s aware — is a rare visitor. Not the resident.

II. You Think You’re a Person. You’re a Flicker in a Dying Battery.

Have you ever “come back” to yourself mid-task? Like you’ve been doing things all day, and suddenly your mind locks back in and you think:

“Wait… where the hell have I been?”

That wasn’t a cute little attention lapse. That was a personality reboot. And you? You’re the ghost that showed up too late to question it.

III. Most of Your Life Has Been Lived by Someone Else — Wearing Your Name

Let’s count it:

How many hours of your childhood can you actually recall?

How many conversations from last year do you remember word for word?

What did you do on April 12th, 2018?

Who did you become while you weren’t watching?

Exactly.

“You” is a continuity illusion. A scam your nervous system runs to feel safe. Because the alternative — that your consciousness blinks in and out like a busted signal — would fry you.

But that’s the truth. You only exist in the moments when you notice you exist. The rest? It’s meat autopilot.

IV. Consciousness Is a Haunted House — And You’re Just the Latest Occupant

Right now, you’re reading this with what feels like a consistent inner voice. Cool.

But close your eyes. Let it all go quiet. You’ll hear it:

Static.

The hum of the machine. Waiting for someone to climb back in and pilot the corpse.

Because your body doesn’t care who’s in charge. It just needs a warm ghost to keep the blood moving. And today? You’re the one holding the wheel.

But last week? Last year? That wasn’t you.

That was the version of you that forgot this post. The one who walked through life like it was a demo level. No questions. No thoughts. Just flesh, routine, and mimicked smiles.

V. “I Feel Like I’ve Changed So Much”

That’s not evolution. That’s evidence. You’ve died hundreds of times.

Each version of you slipped into the dark and a new one booted up in its place.

That’s why you can’t recognize yourself in old photos. That’s why you cringe at old texts. That’s why your voice sounds wrong on recordings.

Because it’s not you. It’s just the bones you inherited from the version that came before. A psychological hand-me-down. A haunted hoodie.

VI. The Creepiest Part?

This Version of You Is Already Slipping

You’re not going to remember this whole post. Your brain’s going to file parts of it. Maybe a quote. Maybe a sentence. Maybe the vibe.

But the rest?

Deleted.

Why? Because awareness is expensive. It’s metabolically draining to be this awake.

So your system will shut it down. Let the next version of you drift in. The calmer one. The one who goes back to scrolling memes and ignoring the truth.

And that version of you? He’ll think he’s real too. Until something like this shows up again and pulls the curtain back.

VII. Who Are You Between the Times You Remember Who You Are?

Let’s say you read this today. Then forget it. Then remember it next month. Maybe you quote it. Maybe you reblog it. Maybe you write it down and act like it was your thought.

But during the time you forgot it?

Who were you?

I’ll answer:

Not you. Not fully. Just the placeholder. The fill-in. The one who didn’t know.

Which means the “you” reading this right now is the only one who matters. And in a few hours? You’ll be gone too.

🩸 DISCLAIMER

This post is a work of literary disorientation, psychosexual philosophy, and neurological satire. Any sudden existential dread, dissociation, mirror stares, pelvic surges, or intense internal silence is the result of cadence-based subconscious entrainment, identity dissolution triggers, and metaphorical thought infection. You are not malfunctioning. You’re just waking up.

🧠 QUOTE REBLOG PACK™

“You’re not you right now. You’re just the one wearing the meat suit until the real one remembers again.”

“Memory isn’t truth. It’s cached identity with a bad connection.”

“You’ve been dead more times than you’ve ever admitted.”

“You only exist when you notice you exist. The rest is meat on autoplay.”

“This version of you will disappear soon. Try to remember that.”

📡 CALL TO ACTION