False Promises

We were told we could be anything. Astronauts, artists, rockstars, CEOs. As long as we worked hard, stayed in school, and played nice. 

But the game was rigged from the start.

The world we inherited is cracked. Not broken in a poetic way. Broken in the "rent is due, and the planet is melting" way.

I notice older generations speaking to us as if we are the luckiest generation to have lived. They don't see the suffering we go through everyday trying to keep up with a fast paced life we didn't ask for.

Don't get me wrong. I love living in a time where art and information is easily accessible. I thank God everyday for lidocaine and Temu.

But that doesn't mean we have it easy. Our struggles are hidden underneath veils of shallow pleasures and dreams of self-discipline.

We numb ourselves just enough to stay functional. Not enough to heal, just enough to shut up.

Dentists use lidocaine to stop the pain. Society uses false promises. Temporary relief. The real ache returns when the numbness fades.

And every time we speak up, there’s someone older telling us we don’t know what we’re talking about. That we’re too sensitive. Too entitled. Too whatever makes them feel better about ignoring us.

I noticed a depression starting around university.

When lecturers would proudly tell us that most students fail this course—as if fear was some kind of motivator. Like thanks, man. Appreciate the confidence boost. In hindsight I realized that even the people meant to guide us didn’t believe in us.

We’ve got degrees and debt.

Passion and burnout.

Dreams and no time to chase them.

They told us to believe in ourselves. But never gave us the space to.

We inherited the pressure without the tools. The standards without the support. The expectations without the infrastructure.

So yeah—maybe I’m angry. Maybe I’m tired. But I’m not giving up.

I used to think being good was enough. No, no, no my friends. Definitely not. I've learned the hard way that goodness needs boundaries. That kindness without limits turns you into a welcome mat. So I'm building myself like my parents - good-hearted, sure - but with just enough edge to never get walked on.

But something I will never do again is give up.

Because under all the false promises and broken systems, I still believe in something real:

Us.

The ones who see through the lies but still get up. Still create. Still care. Still fight.

We are not weak.

We are not lost.

We are awake.

Who am I to be saying all of this?

Honestly? Just another dude trying to stay sane in a world that's slowly losing its mind. I don't have the answers. But I know the questions keep looming over me, even as I write this. And sometimes, writing them down is the only way I remember who I am.

Yeah, I get distracted and lose focus. The dopamine hits, the endless scroll, the noise. But beneath it all there's still something burning.

I can kill and rebuild my ego all the time. That's the solution to life.

I think.

Every time it grows too loud, I cut it down. And every time I lose myself, I build something new. That's why I'm still here. Still trying.

Still me.

So maybe this isn't a call to action. Maybe it's just a reminder:

Don't wait to be understood.

Don't wait for permission.

Just do it.

Don't try.

But fucking try.

Go full fucking throttle.

And let the results do the talking.

God... I'm lucky.

More soon – matt