DISCLAIMER: This is a comedic article and if you truly have problems you should talk to a therapist and not me. But please do if you want, I am hilarious.

A lot of people who seemingly haven’t suffered enough will tell you to “Fake it ’til you make it”. Now how true could that be? If you claim that you’re doing great whenever someone asks you how you’re doing, surely it won’t help you actually feel less shitty?

When I was in Sweden’s equivalent of high school, I was at a low point. My social skills were improving but there were often things I envied about those around me; I felt like they had luxuries and experiences I could only ever hope for. And yet, many of them would often speak of how much their lives sucked and, when I talked to them, either that they knew exactly how I felt despite having no troubles in common with me, or that their lives were much worse because it’d been two weeks since their last moment of intimacy. Hobbyist models took “lol so ugly” selfies; people who habitually travel the world moaned about not having money; popular kids shared the “Forever Alone” ragecomic. It was as if people who had more also thought they had more reasons to complain.

Then, during the mid-2010s, something fascinating happened. People suddenly got more overt about loathing existence itself, and contemplating suicide suddenly became a dank meme as opposed to a tragic and devastating scenario.

At some point or another, I changed completely. I decided to stop lamenting the things I didn’t have and, rather than appreciate the good things in life, start appreciating my life IN SPITE of all the objectively bad things about it, just to piss people off. I started acting as if my visits to McDonald’s constituted fancy as fuck dinners, I behaved as if a day of watching Lars von Trier movies and old cartoons was the best day of my life, I expressed no desire to leave my municipality of origin to start a company in Australia, I became even more unjustly proud of myself than ever; all of it has baffled and infuriated at least ONE person in my circles at some occasion (yes, usually of the aforementioned kind that has had more luck yet wept more than I; suddenly, they were no longer worse off).

And the twist would be that, after a certain amount of time, I started feeling happy for real.


I eventually decided to do similar things for Christmas, sending cheerful “Merry Christmas” texts to only the surliest Scrooges, Grinches, and Humbuggers in my Facebook timeline. The whole process has provided me with spiteful satisfaction on top of genuinely giving me a newfound appreciation for the little things in life – and no, not just things that some would rightly consider objectively shitty.

Additionally, I get to feel and act like I have evolved a thicker skin than those who should be happier than me but aren’t, even though you could argue I’ve just done the “troll” equivalent of giving up. Either way: fuck yeah!

Pictured: the stage of shit-giving I’m currently at.

This relates to my previously mentioned ability to enjoy doing things alone, on my own terms, without anyone to accompany or bother me. And yes, I am still subject to judgement for this shit, with people assuming that I am sad and must have had way too few relations in my life. Not only does this sound eerily like projection, but if you believe that relationships are something you or anyone else needs in order to lead a fulfilling life, as opposed to something you want, chances are you’re either weak or uncreative. Hey, if you can make dipshit assumptions about me, I can do it back.

And before you MGTOW weirdos start assimilating me, I’m not saying I don’t want a relationship ever. It’s just not something I’m currently pursuing and even when I meet someone who seems interesting enough to reawaken that compulsion in me, it usually fades when I get to know them better. Some would say I’m neurologically damaged; others would say I am smarter than those who waste their resources on marriage, a farmhouse, and various drama before they realize the oxytocin has worn off.

If you desire some form of relationship in your life, and you really feel like nothing else fills the abysmal void in your soul (luckily souls don’t exist), then go ahead. Just don’t act as if you’re somehow happier than those who are self-sufficient happy just as they are. Everything is relative. And sure, the sexual aspect is necessary for procreation. Now how much did those condoms, birth control implants, and pre-one-night-stand Tequila shots cost, you meaningless fuck?

Eloqunt as ever. (NOTE: I’m not advocating overpopulation and I love me a safe shag, but if you feel like protected sex is more useful to man’s continuity than not having it at all, well…)

The point is that, to quote a friend, worrying about the future is a colossal waste of the present and also an overestimation of how much it matters; be it about dying alone or anything else (don’t worry, people die alone all the time so it won’t be just you).

Of course you don’t have to be content with everything or refrain from improving your situation in ways that are attainable. You can look for love, work towards more fortunes, and whatever else. Everyone does. But enjoying life as a joke is something I can recommend, not simply because it turns out it’s not a joke and there are always things to do and people to talk to, but also because it pisses off sad sacks who can’t stand it when you aren’t as demanding or miserable as them. You’re welcome!

Is it a form of nihilism to enjoy life in spite of life and take a minimal quantity of things seriously? Maybe. Who gives a shit? Go outside.

Feel free to email me about how sad and callous I am for basically creating love out of hatred. It won’t prove anything I’ve said, I promise.