On something worth living for.

coketalk, i hate myself. i am 5”8, 135 lbs, vegan, and exercise for 1 hr a day, and objectively and honestly i probably have an ok face. but i think i am the most disgusting, fat piece of shit ever and i don’t feel like i deserve anything nice or worldly. i have tried to commit suicide several times, since the age of 11, and have a fucked up liver from eating entire bottles of aspirin and alcoholism. i have major depressive disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, and an undefined social disorder from an abusive childhood and hearing my mom getting raped by my dad for years. tell me why i should live?

You’ve reduced your personal description to a series of dietary statistics and mental disorders. Of course you hate yourself.

It’s not my job to tell you why you should live, but if you want my advice I suggest you go eat a fucking steak. That shit is delicious. Definitely worth living for.

I’m not joking. Vegans annoy the fuck out of me, especially ones who use a pretentious lifestyle choice as a cover for an eating disorder.

So, here’s what you do. Find your nearest steakhouse — any old Sizzler will do. You’re a beginner, so order up a filet medium-well with some A1 steak sauce. Chew slowly. While you savor that delicious hunk of meat, I want you to make a list of all the wonderful things you would’ve done with your life if you hadn’t been the victim of childhood trauma.

After you’ve had a steak, write me back and tell me what’s on your list.


2 thoughts on “On something worth living for.

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