Fuckism: Falling is inevitable. Quitting is a goddamn choice. You’re gonna eat shit.Not once. Not twice. On repeat.Face first into the dirt—ego cracked, pride bruised, hope limping behind. You think that means you’re broken?Nah. That means you’re in motion.Because statues don’t fall. They just sit there. Frozen. Pointless. Safe. But you? You moved. You dared. […]
Fuckism: They may have fucked you up—but it’s your job to unfuck yourself. Yeah, your childhood was a shitshow.Dad was absent.Mom was controlling.Or maybe they both meant well and still screwed it all up anyway. Guess what?That’s called being human.And yeah, it leaves scars.But if you’re still blaming them in your 30s,Still letting their dysfunction
Fuckism: Half-assing it? That’s just preloading your excuse. You showed up.Sort of.You did the work.Kind of.You said you’d give it your all—Then handed it your maybe. And now?You’re prepping your apology like it’s a backup plan.“Things got busy.”“Wasn’t the right time.”“I didn’t really want it anyway.” Bullshit.You wanted the out more than the outcome.You wanted
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Fuckism: The mountain looks huge—until you realize you built the damn thing. Standing there, paralyzed.Looking up at this beast of a mountain.Overwhelmed. Intimidated.Convinced it’s too much, too high, too hard. But here’s the twist, kid:That mountain?It’s yours. Not yours like belonging to you.Yours like you built that bitch.Brick by brick—Every doubt.Every excuse.Every story you told
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Anti Quote: Hey, take it easy. Don’t rush. You’ve got time. No need to push yourself.” …Thanks for your loyalty.You made my job easy. — Life (with the Devil cc’d) All those days you “took it slow”?All those dreams you delayed “until the timing was right”?All that healing you weaponized to avoid becoming who you
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Fuckism: Life’s slap doesn’t always come dressed in tragedy—sometimes it shows up as heartbreak, herpes, or a stubbed-ass toe. Either way, it’s a wake-up call, not a curse. You think the universe is punishing you?Nah, motherfucker—it’s ringing the bell.And it’ll use whatever it has to: That’s not pain. That’s a prompt.A rude-ass, no-warning “get your
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Fuckism: Not everyone speaks the same language—some need a whisper, some need a thank you, and some need a fucking black eye made of words. You want to communicate?Learn the terrain.Because not everyone responds to soft talk and polite tone. Some people?You speak gently—they listen.Others?You gotta gut-punch them with facts just to get their brain
Fuckism: The pain of pushing through is temporary. The regret of quitting? That shit haunts. Pick your suffering—one builds, the other buries. Quitting feels good for five minutes.Relief. Escape. Silence.But then the silence gets louder.And what you could’ve been starts whispering like a ghost you can’t block. Quitting don’t hurt now—it hurts later.And it doesn’t
Fuckism: Death Ain’t the End—It’s the Beginning, Bitch Death isn’t the end.It’s the f*cking door.The death of your fat-ass comfort zone.The death of your self-loathing inner monologue.The death of the weak, petty, ego-driven version of you that’s been holding you hostage. Real change?It’s a murder scene.You don’t evolve—you kill what no longer serves. Hand yourself
Click Click Boom 101: The Cake, The Hit, The Slide Click: You said yes to the cake. No big deal—just one bite.Click: Then came the joint—just to chill.Boom: Now you’re fat, foggy, and stuck in the dopamine dungeon wondering where your discipline went. Reload: You didn’t ruin your life—you just cracked the door.Close it. Tighten
