A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon Tim Urban’s TED talk—Inside the mind of a master procrastinator. It’s funny, self-aware, and uncomfortably accurate. Urban describes procrastination as a tiny internal control room run by three characters:

• the Rational Decision-Maker, who draws up the plan;

• the Instant Gratification Monkey, who hijacks the wheel for anything easy and fun;

• and the Panic Monster, who wakes up only when a deadline is close enough to smell.

If you’ve ever watched yourself delay a task you genuinely care about, you already know the plot twist: the Rational Decision-Maker isn’t weak. They’re just… outnumbered.

Urban ends by saying something like: we’re all procrastinators in one way or another. Some of us delay everything until the deadline. Others delay only the annoying things. And some of us have “non-deadline” procrastination—where there is no due date, so the Panic Monster never arrives, and life quietly slips by in half-finished intentions.

That’s where my theory begins.

The deadline isn’t the solution. It’s the trigger.

If the only force strong enough to rescue us from procrastination is panic, then the “system” is basically:

Procrastinate → Panic → Sprint → Relief → Repeat

It works often enough to keep us functional, but it’s a terrible way to live. It trains the brain to treat urgency as the only legitimate reason to act.

And it creates two problems:

1. You don’t do things early—even when you could.

2. You don’t do non-deadline things at all—because nothing ever turns the Panic Monster on.

So the real question isn’t “How do I stop procrastinating?”

The real question is:

What if we didn’t need a monster at all?

What if we had a Siren instead of a Panic Monster?

Imagine replacing the Panic Monster with something less dramatic, but more consistent: a Siren.

Not a monster that stomps into the room at the last second.

A siren—a periodic alarm in your mind that goes off at fixed intervals. Not to terrify you, but to interrupt the monkey. A sound that says:

“Hey. This is you checking in. Are you driving, or is the monkey driving?”

A Siren doesn’t wait for deadlines. It shows up whether the task is due tomorrow, due next month, or not due at all.

And that difference matters.

Because deadlines are just a crude external tool for creating urgency. A Siren is an internal tool for creating awareness.

Why “awareness” is the missing piece

The Instant Gratification Monkey wins for one main reason: it thrives in unconscious moments.

It doesn’t argue. It doesn’t debate. It simply makes small, quiet decisions for you.

• “Let’s just watch one video.”

• “We’ll start after we refresh once.”

• “We have time.”

• “We’ll do it tomorrow.”

And the Rational Decision-Maker often doesn’t lose because they lack motivation—

they lose because they’re not present when the wheel gets stolen.

That’s why a Siren could work. It doesn’t have to be loud. It just has to be frequent enough to bring you back into the driver’s seat.

Deadlines vs. Non-deadline tasks (where we really get stuck)

Deadline tasks have a built-in ending:

• exam on Friday

• assignment submission

• office meeting

• rent payment

Even if you procrastinate, you eventually crash into consequences. The Panic Monster is a reactive mechanism, but at least it exists.

Non-deadline tasks are worse:

• learning a skill

• writing something personal

• working out

• building a portfolio

• reading the books you keep buying

• calling someone you miss

• fixing your sleep schedule

There’s no cliff edge. No due date. No external pressure.

So procrastination isn’t a temporary delay—it becomes a lifestyle.

A Siren would specifically target this category: the slow, quiet tasks that shape your life.

So what does the Siren actually do?

In my head, the Siren is a recurring interruption with one job:

1. Break the trance

2. Force a micro-decision

3. Hand the wheel back to you

It’s not saying, “Finish the entire thing now.”

It’s asking, “Are you choosing this, or are you escaping?”

That alone changes everything.

Because the monkey hates questions.

The monkey survives on autopilot.

The Siren doesn’t replace discipline. It builds it.

A common misunderstanding about procrastination is that discipline is a personality trait.

But discipline, in practice, is often just:

the ability to return to your intention—again and again.

A Siren creates more “return” moments.

And if you return often enough, you start to build an identity that isn’t built on panic.

You become someone who doesn’t need fear to function.

“But won’t the Siren be annoying?”

Yes.

That’s kind of the point.

The Siren is not meant to be comforting. It’s meant to be interruptive.

But it’s interruptive in a humane way:

• not terror, like panic

• not shame, like guilt

• not motivational quotes, like fake inspiration

Just a reminder that you exist outside the monkey’s loop.

The Siren isn’t punishment.

It’s presence.

Making the Siren real (outside my head)

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Okay, but how do I do this in real life?”—you’re right to ask. In real life, a Siren can be something simple:

• a timer that rings every 30 minutes while you work

• a recurring reminder: “Am I avoiding or choosing?”

• a sticky note you can’t ignore

• a Pomodoro timer, but with a different goal: awareness, not productivity

• even a friend you check in with daily (a human siren)

The structure isn’t the point.

The interruption is.

The world doesn’t need more Panic Monsters

We’re already anxious. We’re already overwhelmed. Most of us already live with too much pressure.

So maybe the answer isn’t to weaponize panic into a productivity strategy.

Maybe the answer is to design a gentler mechanism: one that keeps waking us up before the crisis.

A Siren.

Not to scare us into action.

Just to bring us back to ourselves—again, and again, and again.

Because the goal isn’t to beat procrastination once.

The goal is to stop needing fear as a fuel.

And maybe—just maybe—if the Siren rings often enough, the monkey will learn something it hates:

that the wheel doesn’t belong to it.

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I’m not ready—at least not yet—to write my full schizophrenia story.

That story has trauma in it, and I can’t reopen all of it right now. Maybe one day—later in life—I’ll turn it into a book. But this piece is different. This is about what schizophrenia and bipolar disorder are, and how they don’t only affect the person who is diagnosed—they reshape the lives of the people around them too.

What schizophrenia and bipolar disorder can look like (in plain language)

When people say “schizophrenia,” they often imagine a scary movie version of it. The reality is usually quieter and more complicated—and for many people, it comes down to a mind that begins to misinterpret reality.

In everyday terms, schizophrenia can involve:

• Hearing voices or sounds that aren’t there

• Seeing things that others don’t (I even saw faces)

• Feeling watched, targeted, or unsafe even when there’s no objective threat

• Thoughts that spiral in patterns you can’t simply “snap out of”

Bipolar disorder is different, but it can overlap in how destabilizing it feels—for the person experiencing it and for everyone living close to them.

In professional terms, bipolar disorder is characterized by shifts in mood and energy that can range from:

• Depressive episodes (low energy, hopelessness, withdrawal, numbness)

• Manic or hypomanic episodes (high energy, reduced sleep, impulsivity, racing thoughts, irritability)

In plain language? It can look like a person becoming someone they don’t recognize—sometimes someone their loved ones don’t recognize either.

The part people don’t talk about: the collateral damage

Here’s something that’s hard to say, but important:

Schizophrenia and bipolar disorder don’t only hurt the person diagnosed.

They can hurt the people who love them too—especially the ones who become caregivers by default.

In my case, the impact landed heavily on my mother.

When one person’s mind starts to slip away from reality, someone else usually becomes the anchor. The translator. The protector. The “adult in the room.” The person who must keep the home functioning while also carrying fear, confusion, and grief.

And that kind of pressure changes a person.

family history, and the weight of “why us?”

And then there’s the unspoken layer: the family story underneath the diagnosis.

Abuse. Old wounds. Unhealed patterns. The way trauma gets passed down like an heirloom no one asked for.

I’m not going into every detail here—some of it belongs in other pieces, at another time. But I can say this: mental illness doesn’t arrive in a vacuum. It often walks into a house that’s already carrying weight.

Religion, desperation, and the need to fix what can’t be “fixed” overnight

When a family is terrified, families do what frightened humans have always done: they look for meaning, and they look for solutions.

My mother took me to temples—everywhere she could. She made vows. She prayed. She tried every door that promised hope.

Not because she was irrational.

Because she was desperate.

When you don’t have the language of psychiatry, when you don’t trust medicine yet, when you’re watching someone you love unravel—faith becomes one of the only tools you can hold in your hands. A ritual becomes a way to feel less powerless.

And I don’t blame her for that.

Triggers, paranoia, and how a mind builds a new reality

Schizophrenia can be triggered by many things, and triggers aren’t always logical in hindsight. For me, one major trigger was the feeling that my mom’s phone had been hacked.

It didn’t stay there. It grew.

That’s the terrifying part: when paranoia has momentum, it doesn’t just sit in one corner of your brain. It expands. It recruits evidence. It rewrites neutral events into threats. It turns everyday life into a crime scene where you’re both the victim and the detective.

Over time, the experience evolved and bled into bipolar symptoms too—for reasons I’m not ready to fully share right now.

But I can say this much: when you’re in it, it feels real. And when it feels real, you behave as if it’s real. That’s what people on the outside struggle to understand.

What I wish more people understood

If you’ve never lived near serious mental illness, you might think support looks like “being kind” or “checking in.”

Sometimes it does.

But often, support looks like:

• repeating the same reassurance for the hundredth time

• managing appointments, medication, sleep, routines

• absorbing emotional outbursts without returning them

• being blamed for things you didn’t do

• staying calm while your own nervous system is screaming

• grieving the “old version” of someone while they’re still alive

And if you are the caregiver, you don’t just get tired. You get hollowed out.

So when people say, “It must be hard for you,” they’re not wrong.

But they’re often missing the other sentence:

“It must be hard for your family too.”

A closing note (and a boundary)

This isn’t my full story.

Not yet.

This is me trying to write about the shape of the illness without reopening every scar it gave me. If you’re reading this and you’ve lived through something similar—whether as the person diagnosed or the person who had to hold the household together—I hope this made you feel a little less alone.

And if you’ve never experienced this up close, I hope it gave you a more human picture than the stereotypes do.

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I wasn’t fat as a little kid. The shift happened around 4th–5th grade, when my days became a loop: tuition, home, cartoons—Tom & Jerry, Pokémon, Doraemon, Perman, Takeshi’s Castle—repeat. No playground, no aimless evenings outside, no rough-and-tumble friendships. Part of it was my shyness. Part of it was that nobody really pushed me to go out and be a kid.

I was also working—auditions, shoots—where you’d think you’d meet people and feel seen. But even there, I stayed on the edges.

How I learned to disappear

On set, my mom didn’t let me play with other kids. She was protective, and I understand that now—but at the time it quietly taught me something: stay close, stay safe, don’t take up space.

School taught me the harsher version.

I was bullied, not always in obvious ways, but in the steady drip that changes how you hold your shoulders and how you hear your own name. People picked on my body, on my silence, on the fact that I wouldn’t fight back. Some kids acted like they needed to “boss” me around, like my existence was permission for them to feel powerful. They’d insult my parents. I’d just take it—because I couldn’t fight, and because I didn’t believe I had the right to.

And when you’re that kid—the one who’s quiet, the one who’s “easy”—you start shrinking before anyone even looks at you. You start trying to be invisible. You become shy not as a personality trait, but as a survival strategy.

Weight gain isn’t just food—it’s atmosphere

I gained weight during that time too. On paper, it was overeating. Boredom. Comfort. Gluttony, if I’m being brutally honest with myself.

But emotionally, it felt like my world got smaller and my body got bigger—like all the things I couldn’t say or do had to go somewhere.

And the bigger I got, the easier it became for people to target me. Weight wasn’t just a physical thing; it turned into a label. A reason.

The internet, the confusion, and a sentence I still remember

Somewhere in that period, I stumbled onto porn while browsing the web when my parents were out at a movie. I didn’t even masturbate then—I didn’t know what that was. It was just curiosity and a new kind of shock.

When my parents found out, my mom said something I can’t forget (and please don’t laugh): “These girls are wearing clothes.”

I was so clueless that I remember searching “Mean Girls” around that time. That’s the level of confusion I was operating with—my brain trying to categorize adult content with the only vocabulary it had.

I’m not writing this for sensationalism. I’m writing it because these moments matter: they show how early exposure, shame, and silence can mix together and settle into you. They become part of the background noise of growing up.

Humiliation has a memory

There were other moments too—painful ones I still feel in my stomach when I think about them.

In 2nd standard, 6th standard, and again in 9th grade, I literally shit my pants. The 9th grade one was the worst: shameful, painful, and impossible to forget. I didn’t just fear being laughed at—I feared being remembered.

And school has a way of preserving your worst days like trophies.

During PT, nobody picked me for their team. I became the default goalkeeper in football—something I actually handled decently for a one-day job—but it wasn’t offered as respect. It was offered because it was convenient.

During annual day, people made fun of me again. At some point it starts to feel like there’s a spotlight following you, but only for the parts you wish you could hide.

What I wish someone had told me

I wish someone had told me that being bullied doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you were surrounded by people who didn’t know how to be kind.

I wish someone had told me that your body is not an invitation for cruelty.

I wish someone had told me that shyness isn’t always “just shyness.” Sometimes it’s what happens when you learn, again and again, that speaking up has a cost.

And I wish someone had told that kid—me—that they weren’t worthless.

A question for you

Were you fat in your childhood? Were you bullied because of it—or for anything else that made you “different”?

If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d like to hear your story. And if you’re reading this as someone who’s still in it: I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.

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A note before we begin: I’m writing this as someone still figuring things out.

This isn’t an attack on LGBTQ+ people or on Pride. It’s an attempt to name a tension I keep running into—between visibility and privacy, between community and individuality, between solidarity and the feeling that I’m expected to perform an identity in public.

• If you’ve ever thought “I support you, but I don’t want my life to be a statement,” this is for you.

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Pride Month: what it began as (and what it became)

Pride Month didn’t appear out of nowhere. In June 1969, the Stonewall riots in New York City became a turning point in the fight against police brutality and discrimination toward queer people. A year later, activists organized early Pride marches to mark that moment and demand rights, safety, and visibility.

Over time, Pride expanded from protest into something broader: celebration, remembrance, politics, culture, and community all layered together.

That arc—from survival to visibility—explains why Pride can be loud, public, and unapologetic. For many people, being quiet was never an option.

The thing I struggle to admit: identity can feel like a performance

Here’s the part I’ve hesitated to say out loud:

Sometimes Pride culture—or at least the version amplified online—feels like it comes with a script. Like you have to:

• label yourself clearly,

• announce it publicly,

• “come out” in a dramatic moment,

• join rallies,

• and make identity a central part of your personality.

And if you don’t, it can feel like you’re assumed to be ashamed, in denial, or “not doing it right.”

I don’t think that’s always what LGBTQ+ people mean. But it’s a pressure I’ve felt in the atmosphere.

Where I stand: “I just want to live”

I’ve taken those online sexuality tests (not exactly scientific, I know). Most say “straight,” sometimes “demisexual.” I’ve never felt strongly certain about labels beyond: I’m attracted the way I’m attracted.

I’m not trying to hide. I’m not afraid of my parents in the way many people are—if I were gay, I think it would take time, but I believe they’d still accept me.

But I also don’t feel a need to “fight for pride” as a personal identity project, or prove something about myself.

If I end up being straight, demisexual, bisexual, or something else entirely, I don’t want the process to feel like a public exam.

I want:

• a good career,

• a meaningful life,

• love that feels real,

• and the freedom to exist without constantly explaining myself.

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Pronouns: respect, clarity, and the tone problem

I understand why pronouns matter. Language can be a practical way to respect someone’s identity, especially for trans and nonbinary people.

But I’ve also seen discussions turn into something like: “If you don’t immediately understand everything, you’re a bad person.”

That’s where people shut down.

For context: I identify as he/him.

For many people, “she/her” or “he/him” matches their identity and feels natural. For some, it doesn’t. Both can be true at once.

The goal should be respect and clarity—not moral superiority. If we want more people to learn, we have to make room for questions asked in good faith.

The question I keep coming back to: why must identity always be announced?

Maybe the most honest thing I’m asking is this:

Why do we, as a society, need everyone to constantly declare what they are?

Why can’t it sometimes be:

• “I’m attracted to who I’m attracted to.”

• “I use these pronouns.”

• “Please respect that.”

And then… we move on?

Because not everyone experiences identity as a flag they want to wave every day. Some people experience it as private, internal, evolving—or simply not that important to broadcast.

The counterpoint (and it matters): visibility is still survival

To be fair—and this is crucial—I know why Pride can’t just be “quiet.”

Some people:

• would be in danger if they came out,

• can’t access basic rights,

• are bullied, disowned, assaulted, or criminalized,

• are told their love is disgusting,

• are erased in schools, families, workplaces, and law.

In those contexts, visibility isn’t performance. It’s survival. It’s community. It’s political pressure. It’s proof that you’re not alone.

So when I say “I just want to live,” I also have to admit: some people are fighting because society isn’t letting them live.

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Where that leaves me: resisting one-size-fits-all expectations

I think my real frustration is with one-size-fits-all expectations.

If Pride is freedom, it should include the freedom to be:

• loud or quiet,

• political or personal,

• public or private,

• still questioning,

• still learning,

• still unsure.

If someone wants to march: beautiful.

If someone wants to stay home and live honestly, without making their identity the headline of their life: also valid.

Not everyone’s courage looks the same.

An open invitation (not a debate)

If you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community, or if you’ve ever felt conflicted about labels, visibility, or the “right” way to exist—how do you see this?

• Does this discomfort resonate, or does it sound like I’m missing something?

• What’s a healthier way to think about Pride if you’re supportive but not drawn to the culture around it?

• How do we balance visibility with privacy without shaming people on either side?

I’m open to constructive criticism. I’d rather learn than argue.

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A few days after I published The Anatomy of an Infatuation, something shifted.

Not immediately. For a brief moment, life stayed quiet—no reaction, no message, no “I read it.” Just me and the echo of what I’d put out into the world.

Then, 2–3 days later, I did what I always do when I’m anxious and curious at the same time: I reached for a shortcut.

I dropped an NGL link in my college friends’ group chat and asked a question I pretended was casual:

“Did any of you send it to L?”

Someone said yes—or maybe I only heard a yes. Memory gets slippery when hope is involved. Either way, that tiny possibility lit a fuse in my brain.

The message I couldn’t unsend

I found L’s number in our Personality Development group.

And I messaged them.

Not just a “hey.” Not a normal, human hello.

I sent the letter I’d written. I attached a few poems too—like evidence, like a confession packet.

As I’m writing this, L still hasn’t responded.

To make things worse, I accidentally deleted the number later, so I followed up on LinkedIn (I don’t use Instagram, and I’ve always been shy about sliding into anyone’s life).

I know how this sounds. I know the word for it is “too much.”

But when you’ve held something in for months, the moment you finally release it doesn’t come out politely. It comes out like a dam breaking.

Then the universe dangled a breadcrumb (or a bot did)

While I was spiraling about what L might say, another NGL reply came in:

“You’re attractive.”

That’s all it takes sometimes—a single sentence, anonymous and vague—and suddenly my mind starts doing math it was born to do:

If L saw the post… and this reply came in… then maybe—

Of course, I later realized those were likely bot comments. But at first, I didn’t know the difference. And I let myself believe, because belief is the easiest drug to find.

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The hardest part isn’t “no.” It’s silence.

I can handle a “yes.”

I can even prepare myself for a “no.”

What I don’t think I can handle is the in-between—the unreadable gap where nothing happens and you start rereading your own messages like they were a crime scene.

The night I sent those messages, I couldn’t sleep.

Not because I was excited.

Because I was exposed.

Because I’d finally made myself visible to someone who might choose to look away.

A note I wish I could say without begging

If L ever reads this, I don’t want to sound like I’m asking for pity.

I just want clarity.

Even a simple “I’m not interested” would be kinder than the limbo my mind creates when it has no information.

I also spent six months saying nothing because I thought L might already be with someone. Maybe that was true. Maybe it wasn’t. I still don’t know.

All I know is: silence turns feelings into a hallway you can’t stop walking down.

The poems (as they were)

The Shore Between Us

White as a pearl, soft as a diamond in my making,

My dear heart beats for you in all my times of waking.

At night I dream dreams of you and me,

Spending time together alone in Palm Beach.

Away from all the clutter in the world,

There would be just you and me.

The tide would pull the heavy hours away,

Leaving only salt and the golden light of day.

We’d trace the shoreline where the foam retreats,

In a quiet rhythm that only the heart repeats.

No phones would ring, no ticking clocks would chime,

Just the slow, steady pulse of borrowed time.

Beneath the leaning palms, the shadows stretch and play,

As the frantic noise of living starts to fade away.

Your hand in mine, a compass steady and true,

In a world of many, I would still find you.

For even when the moon begins its silver climb,

I am yours in sleep, across the reach of time.

Through every waking breath and every drifting sleep,

This is the promise that my spirit longs to keep:

To find that shore where the air is soft and sweet,

Where the sand is warm and the two of us can meet.

Beyond the clutter, where the heavy winds are furled,

There is just you and me—our own private world.

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Dear L,

I am writing this letter that will never reach to you to let you know that I liked it. When we had our first encounter on that extra classes I liked from that very day.

I liked the way you smiled at me, I liked your hair black as a shadow, I want to fall in love deep in the depth of your eyes, your lips glow red as a rose and your beauty unmatched by any other for me.

If you find this I like you, I don’t know likeness = love or not. Maybe I’m just gravitated towards you, maybe we had a connection in both ways but I would never know. I’m still figuring my own life, I hope you figured out yours.

Yours faithfully, Kushagra.

A Final Goodbye?

A final goodbye? that never really came,

by you my girl whenever i recite your name,

I exchanged some messages to your end,

hoping for a response that is never to come.

I say this out loud in the broad daylight,

hoping for a rejoin to come to my sight,

for you my lady maybe our stars align,

our love resides in everyday’s might.

Is this what love feels like?

Maybe.

Or maybe this is what unanswered love feels like: a mix of courage, embarrassment, tenderness, and the exhausting need for an ending.

If you’ve ever waited on a reply that could change the temperature of your whole life, you know what I mean.

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We’ve all had them. Those fleeting, intense, often entirely one-sided bursts of affection that make your heart skip a beat before reality sets in.

Following up on my previous post about dealing with bullying and school-day trauma, I wanted to shift gears into something lighter, though no less complicated: my love life. Or, if we are being completely honest, my lack of one. Every single entry on this list is a tale of unrequited infatuation. No celebrities, no fictional characters—just real people I’ve interacted with, arranged in a timeline of a heart trying to figure itself out.

The Early Years: Naivety & Pencils

Crush 1: 1st Standard (The Big Promise)

Her name was Z. I was so completely infatuated that I proudly announced to my mom and the rest of my family that I was going to marry her. Looking back, it was incredibly naive and silly—I didn’t understand the weight of marriage then, and frankly, I’m still figuring it out now.

Crush 2: 2nd Standard (The Knight in Shining Armor)

This one is a classic. One day, I forgot to bring a pencil to class. A girl named R noticed and lent me one. That simple act of kindness was all it took; I fell for her right then and there. Talk about old-fashioned romance. She later went on to become the school prefect.

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Crush 3: 3rd Standard (The Blur)

I know I had a crush this year, but time has erased the details. I don’t remember her name, and I don’t remember her face. It was pure, faceless infatuation.

The Intermission (4th to 9th Standard) For six years, the radar went totally silent. No girls, no boys, nothing. I was entirely consumed by my studies, a child acting career, and trying to live up to the heavy expectations of my parents. Looking back, maybe I was just in an asexual phase. I made great friends during this time—like V1 and V2—but there wasn’t a drop of romantic attraction to anyone.

The High School & Exam Era

Crush 4: 10th Standard (The Lockdown Double-Header)

When the pandemic hit and we were thrust into virtual school, group projects became the norm. During one of them, I managed to fall for two girls at once: D and T. (Though to be fair, D was actually my mom’s pick, so I don’t know if that one fully counts!)

Crushes 5 & 6: 11th & 12th Standard (The Academic Distractions)

High school wrapped up in a blur of competitive exams. Sometime during my intense JEE prep classes, I fell for a girl in the neighboring classroom. Later, during my 12th standard practical exams, I fell for another girl. We actually talked for a bit, but the conversation never veered off-topic—it was strictly about studies.

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The College Years: Reality & Growth

Crush 7: College (Until Sem 4)

Her name was N, and I liked her from the literal first day I laid eyes on her in college. I never had the guts to ask her out or even strike up a normal conversation. Then, things got complicated. During a difficult episode with schizophrenia, I ended up sending her some weird messages. They weren’t explicit, just highly unusual. My mom ended up deleting them, but the awkwardness remained. Even now, I still don’t have the courage to talk to her.

Crush 8: College (Sem 5 to Present)

As I shared in my recent blogs, once my schizophrenia treatment settled and I started feeling like myself again, I enrolled in a personality development class on campus. That’s where I met L. We didn’t talk much during the course, but whenever we did, it felt like there was a genuine connection.

(And to my college friends reading this: she is from a different branch, so stop asking me for her name!)

The Digital Paradox: Tinder, Bumble, and Premium Walls

After meeting L and realizing my schizophrenia symptoms had drastically reduced, I felt a sudden burst of confidence. I decided to actively put myself out there. I downloaded every single dating app you can think of—Tinder, Bumble, Yubo, you name it, I had an account.

The reality check hit hard. On the mainstream apps, I had zero luck—not a single match. On Yubo, things looked promising on paper when I saw “100+ matches,” but the brutal truth of modern dating apps is that without a paid subscription, they are practically useless. I couldn’t unlock a real connection. Behind the digital noise, the only real, grounded feeling I had—and still have—is for L.

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A Note on the “Why”

You might notice a pattern here: none of these crushes ever turned into a real relationship.

If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve always been too scared to take the leap. The pressure of parental expectations, the constant anxiety over my studies and future career, and the simple reality of not having the disposable income to afford the expenses that come with dating have always held me back.

There were also a few times I found myself falling for guys, but I’m not ready to put a rigid label on my sexuality just yet. I’m just taking things one day at a time.

This article was inspired by a similar piece on crushes by @shay.

Now, I want to hear from you. What are your crush stories? Have you ever survived the ghost-town of dating apps, or did you have a simple “pencil-lending” moment of your own? Let me know in the comments below!

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“Do men not get abused?”

It’s a question I’ve carried with me for years. Ever since I started this Substack, I knew I wanted to share a piece of my childhood that I’ve kept locked away for far too long.

Between the 6th and 10th standards, school wasn’t just a place of education for me; it was a minefield of normalized sexual harassment. I was a quiet, introverted, and physically weak child. Because I didn’t know how to fight back, I became an easy target.

These are four moments that shaped my childhood, and sadly, they are far more common than people care to admit.

Incident 1: The Festival

I was about 12 or 13 years old. During a school festival celebration, a boy (let’s call him P) and a girl (let’s call her B) approached me. For no reason at all, P suddenly groped my thighs and pressed my penis so hard that it physically pained. Instead of stopping, both P and B just laughed in my face, mocking me with the words, “Iska toh chota hai” (His is so small).

As an introvert, gathered all my courage to complain to a teacher. No action was taken. I was left alone with the pain and the humiliation.

Incident 2: The Casual Groping

In the 8th standard, another boy named Pr casually groped my genitals in the middle of the school day. Later, realizing he might get into trouble, he tried to brush it off and “patch things up” with a simple, empty apology.

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Incident 3: The Threat in Acting Class

By the 9th grade, I was taking acting classes after school. During a practice session, I made a mistake. A boy named H grew angry, reached out, and touched my penis, threateningly asking, “Daba du kya?” (Should I squeeze it?). Sexual violation was used as a tool for intimidation, and it terrified me.

Incident 4: The Annual Day

Back in the 8th standard, during our Annual Day preparations, a boy named Ka groped me. No one around us cared. This time, I told my mother. She called his mother, and the parents “patched things up” the night after the event. But while the adults moved on, the violation remained with me.

The Reality of Being a Male Victim in India

This is the extent to which sexual abuse is normalized in India. We have rightly built laws to protect women and girls, but we completely ignore the boys.

While these incidents didn’t leave permanent physical scars, the psychological damage has been profound. I was a shy child, and this systemic harassment forced me deeper into my shell. I am still dealing with that intense shyness today.

Yes, there were helpline numbers for bullying and abuse, but for an introvert, dialing a number and explaining your trauma to a stranger feels like climbing a mountain. We needed the adults around us to notice. We needed our schools to protect us.

I am writing this today to break the silence. Abuse doesn’t care about gender, and the trauma doesn’t hurt any less just because you are a boy.

What about you? Have you ever witnessed or experienced this kind of normalized bullying in Indian schools? Let’s talk about it in the comments below.

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𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕟𝕠 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕒 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕

𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥'𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖,

𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕤 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙

𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕪 𝕠𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕗𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕝𝕒𝕨

𝕖𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕘𝕠 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕠𝕣 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕝.

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There are moments in life when everything feels unclear. This is one of those moments for me.

Lately, I’ve been struggling with habits that I know aren’t helping me. I’ve been watching porn and masturbating every day. It’s reached a point where I’m experiencing physical pain — my penis hurts, and my sciatic nerve pain worsens afterward. Yoga helps ease the discomfort, but the cycle keeps repeating. I spoke to my doctor about the tremors and tingling in my hands, and he said they’re likely side effects of the medications I’m taking. Still, I can’t ignore the feeling that something in my lifestyle needs to change.

Beyond the physical, I feel mentally scattered and directionless.

I’m currently pursuing IT engineering, and I’m in my sixth semester. The truth? I have zero interest in it. Instead of attending classes regularly and focusing on academics, I find myself bunking them. I don’t feel connected to what I’m studying. I feel like I’m moving forward in a direction that doesn’t belong to me.

Since childhood, my real passion has been acting.

I’ve worked in serials, done some theatre, and even acted in an award-winning short film. Performing has always made me feel alive. It feels honest. It feels like me. After finishing engineering, I’m considering pursuing an MA at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland and training at Adishakti Laboratory for Theatre Art Research. Theatre training feels like the direction my heart wants to take.

But here’s the problem: I can’t focus.

Not on engineering.
Not fully on acting.
Not even on improving myself consistently.

It feels like I’m stuck between worlds.

Another layer of confusion comes from questioning my sexuality. Sometimes, when watching certain TV shows, I notice that seeing shirtless men makes me feel physically aroused. I also feel deep emotional connections toward both men and women. Society loves labels, but I’m not sure I’m ready for one. Maybe I’m bisexual. Maybe I’m still figuring things out. It feels too early to define anything. What I do know is that these feelings are real, and they’re part of me.

And that uncertainty adds to the confusion I already feel.

I love movies. I love music. I enjoy playing the guitar. I like books, even though I don’t read as much as I want to. Growing up, my parents only allowed me to read academic books, and maybe somewhere along the way I stopped exploring literature freely. I don’t know why I’m mentioning this — maybe because it represents something bigger: the parts of me that were quietly put aside.

Right now, I feel lost.

But I’m also trying.

Trying to understand my habits.
Trying to understand my career path.
Trying to understand my sexuality.
Trying to understand myself.

Maybe this phase isn’t about having everything figured out. Maybe it’s about sitting with the confusion and slowly untangling it.

I don’t have clarity yet.
But I still have desire.
And maybe that’s enough to begin again.

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So this a collab post between elliot and me as he send me some constructive critique on my previous post,i like his pointers so this is a pov.He has quiet a radical pov so be warned.

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Feminist Movements and Literary Continuums

What makes these texts enduring is how clearly they align with feminist movements across time.

• First-wave feminism emphasized legal identity, autonomy, and education—values Nora claims when she leaves.

• Second-wave feminism interrogated domestic labor, psychological oppression, and the politics of the personal—all central to The Yellow Wallpaper.

• Contemporary feminism continues this work by questioning how power operates in relationships, healthcare, and language itself.

Both texts remind us that feminism is not only about public rights but private freedoms.

Today i will talk about a feminism through the lens of Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House and Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper.

1)Firstly, A doll’s House is semi based Ibsen’s friend who was commited to a mental asylum after her husband find out about the loan.

Nora begins A Doll’s House as a character shaped entirely by male approval. First her father, then her husband, define her sense of self. She performs happiness, obedience, and innocence because that is what is expected of her.

But Nora’s awakening is radical precisely because it is internal. When Torvald reacts to her sacrifice—not with gratitude, but with outrage—Nora sees the truth: she has never been a partner, only a possession.

Her decision to leave is often read as scandalous, but from a feminist perspective, it is revolutionary. Nora chooses self-education over marriage, identity over duty. This moment anticipates first-wave feminism, particularly its focus on women as rational individuals capable of moral and intellectual independence.

The famous door slam at the end of the play is not just Nora leaving Torvald—it is literature announcing that women’s lives extend beyond domestic roles.

I would highly encourage all to read this play about women defining societal norms and shaping their own destiny.

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2)Secondly about The Yellow Wallpaper is how women feel mental breakdowns when they are confined to their homes . It is the story of Jane and John, her husband and her physician giving her rest cure becuase of the mental depression.

In The Yellow Wallpaper, the home becomes a psychological trap. The narrator’s husband dismisses her writing, restricts her movement, and insists he knows what is best for her mental health. She is infantilized, much like Nora—but unlike Nora, she is denied even the language to articulate her oppression.

The wallpaper becomes a symbol of everything she cannot say. As she studies it obsessively, she begins to see another woman trapped behind it, struggling to break free. This doubling is crucial: the narrator recognizes herself in the imprisoned figure.

From a feminist lens, the story critiques how women’s suffering—especially mental suffering—has historically been silenced or medicalized. Gilman exposes the dangers of a system where women are not trusted as narrators of their own experience.

The narrator’s descent into madness is not failure; it is resistance. Tearing down the wallpaper is her only available form of rebellion.

Both stories critique about the mental suffering and moral independence of women from bonds.

If you want to know more about her radical persepective u can check his post

https://substack.com/@elliotkostigan/note/p-185281336?r=6y61ed&utm_source=notes-share-action&utm_medium=web

If you want to check more of his posts:

https://substack.com/@elliotkostigan

First of all, I’m a feminist so i am gonna stand by that both genders are equal and women should have equal rights and opportunities.I am just gonna compare and hightlight points from both sides in a neutral standpoint.I hate patriarchic men and psuedo feminist women but both have their own sides.In this series of two part posts I’m gonna write about patriarchy vs feminism and how it affects society,civilisation and people in general.

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First of all let’s start with patriarchy from the dawn of civilisation men were meant as hunter and gatherers and women are meant as caretakers of the home, but from the last century the roles seem to have changed and even reversed in some point. Patriarchy means dominance of men over women emotionally,sexually , poltically,economically etc you get my point. Men feel that women should be confined to their homes doing daily chores in some countries ,even though revolutions have occured some positions of power are still confined to men.But i’m not saying all is bad men and women are born different biological , women have the power to give birth to a new life that’s the greatest gift by nature.

Men on the other hand are told to be rough and tough by childhood,they are told to never cry about anything and tell to control women by a playbook.By the sexual revolution of the 1960s-70s men also have feelings they can cry . From the childhood especially in some countries boys never talk to girls , there is no proper sexual education.

Then whatever education we get about women is from porn and about perfect bodies which is completely wrong also movies glorify women as sexual objects and trophies.Feminism and patriarchy are two polarizing opposing forces of society.In my country,child marriage is banned but in some countryside places it is still practised.

Impact on Men and Women

A neutral view recognizes that both systems affect everyone:

• Patriarchal expectations can place pressure on men to suppress emotions, carry financial burdens alone, and conform to rigid definitions of masculinity.

• Gender inequality has historically restricted women’s choices, voices, and safety in many societies.

As societies evolve, the challenge is not to replace one dominant system with another, but to reduce limitations imposed by outdated norms.

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In my previous post i talked about the word “content” in an optimistic setting,sheding light on how content is important to grow on the internet and how AI plays a roll in the word “content”.

Now it’s full on rant on the word in general.Where do we even begin,guys.

Let’s start with pointers in this too:

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. I hate the word “Content”

The word “content” being refer to something pisses me off a lot. The word has lost it’s meaning somewhere down the line.

Everything is content now.

A new season of a succusseful show/ new movie? Content

An essay bled into at 2am? Content

A video explaining grief,love and injustice? Content

A novel/book that took years to write ? Content

Same word. Same bucket. Same shrug.

There is no clear difference between AI slop movies/videos from real artists which brings me to my next point.

.EVERYTHING IS UNIQUE AND AN ART

A essay/blog written with passion.A movie/show being made is an art.A novel being made by the author is an art.

AI slop destroys and our overconsumption of short form videos or content if u prefer that word has decreased our attention span.

.When everything becomes “content” .nothing is sacred.

The word “content” used to be boring in a harmless way. It meant stuff inside something. The contents of a box. The contents page of a book.

Now it means everything humans make for the internet.

Calling everything “content” is efficient—but efficiency is rarely neutral. It strips work of context and intention. It flattens craft, labor, and meaning into a unit that can be counted, scheduled, optimized, and discarded.

Content is not written.

It is produced.

Content is not shared.

It is distributed.

Content is not read or felt.

It is consumed.

Notice the language shift? Humans quietly replaced by systems.

. “Content Creator” is a job title and a Warning Label

The phrase “content creator” sounds empowering, until you sit with it.

It doesn’t describe what you create.

It doesn’t care why you create.

It only cares that you create—regularly, predictably, and preferably at scale.

A poet and a prank channel are both content creators. A journalist risking their life and someone lip-syncing to a trending sound are both content creators.

Again: same bucket. Same shrug.

The word erases differences in risk, skill, depth, and intent. It turns creation into a throughput problem.

Can you post daily?

Can you keep engagement up?

Can you feed the algorithm?

Congratulations. You’re a good content creator.

Whether what you make matters is… beside the point.

. “Just Make Content” is the most soul crushing advice one could give

I get good amount of comments that people like my content but that is where the problem lies. Not on the essays but on the word.

If you’ve ever tried to write seriously, you’ve heard this advice:

“Don’t overthink it. Just make content.”

This is usually said by someone who hasn’t sat with a blank page wondering if their words are honest—or useful—or true.

“Just make content” treats expression like factory output. It assumes volume leads to value. It implies that meaning will magically emerge if you keep shoveling words into the internet furnace.

Sometimes it does.

Often it doesn’t.

And pretending otherwise burns people out quietly.

Not everyone wants to produce. Some people want to say something.

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.Content has a shelf life and metric have lost it’s meaning( we barely notice it)

“Content trends,peaks up and dies” just like the highs in a roller coaster ride decided by an algorithm in a platform designed to keep your attention engaged.

Yesterday’s viral post is today’s dead link. Platforms reward novelty, not endurance. The system prefers speed over depth, reaction over reflection.

But essays,movies/shows,books,tweets, aren’t meant to expire in 48 hours.

Stories aren’t supposed to be outdated by an algorithm tweak.

Ideas deserve time to echo.

Calling all of it “content” primes us to accept its disappearance. If it vanishes, who cares? It was just content.

That mindset is poison for anyone who believes words can last.

Once something becomes content, it becomes measurable.

Views.

Clicks.

CTR.

Watch time.

Retention curves.

These numbers are useful—but they are not wisdom.

A piece that changes one person’s life may fail every metric. A shallow post that confirms existing beliefs may soar.

Yet we’ve trained ourselves to equate performance with worth.

“How did it do?”

becomes more important than

“Was it true?” or “Was it kind?” or “Was it necessary?”

That’s not an accident. That’s what the word “content” makes easier.

.I Don’t make Content. I write

This isn’t elitism. It’s boundaries.

I don’t want everything I write to be optimized.

I don’t want my thoughts reduced to posts in a pipeline.

I don’t want to treat curiosity like inventory.

Writing is thinking in public. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes badly. Sometimes without payoff.

Calling it “content” pressures it to perform before it’s ready—and sometimes before it even knows what it wants to be.

Not everything needs to scale.

Not everything needs to monetize.

Not everything needs to fit a format.

^.A Small Act of Resistance

This rant won’t change the internet. The word “content” isn’t going anywhere. Platforms need it. Marketers love it. Dashboards depend on it.

But you can choose your own language.

Call your work:

.essays

.notes

.stories

.research

.letters

.thoughts

.experiments

Call yourself:

.a writer

.a thinker

.a teacher

.an artist

.a journalist

.a human trying to make sense of things

Words shape how we treat our work—and ourselves.

So no, I don’t make content.

I write.

And I’d like the words to mean something, even if the algorithm doesn’t notice.

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• Courtsey: Usability Geek

So, this is a series of two part posts where i would talk about two sides of the same coin. The word “content” in optimistic light and pessimistic one too.

Bill Gates said “ Content is King” in a 1996 essay by the microsoft foundation. Content of any form such as games,movies,music, news etc is where the real money will be made in the internet era as he predicted way back then.Though the internet has evolved dramatically since this idea first went mainstream, the importance of content has only grown stronger.

The key pointers that are a takeway from the phrase “content is king”

📈 Content Is the Gateway to Discovery

When someone searches online, whether for a solution, inspiration, or an answer, it’s content that shows up first. High-quality, helpful content boosts visibility on search engines and drives organic traffic — making it easier for audiences to find what you offer without being chased by ads. This means better engagement, deeper trust, and more meaningful connections with people searching for value.

🌍 Content Builds Relationships, Not Just Clicks

Great content sparks more debate and discussion among fans. Whether it be a blog post on a niche topic, a video about a particular topic or a tutorial that teaches a skill. Content word is everywhere on the internet and every creator is being rewarded with money , views, play buttons and sponsherships when they become a content creator.

🎯 Content Helps Audiences Feel Understood

Today’s users are savvy. They can tell when content feels generic or self-serving. What resonates instead is relevant, thoughtful, and human-centric content — content that anticipates questions before they’re asked, solves problems, and speaks in the language of the audience. This shift toward authenticity lets content form real relationships rather than just broadcasting messages.

🎥 Content Is Ever-Evolving — and So Is Its Power

Content is chaning from videos to interactive tools to AI it is changing colors faster than a chamelon.

🌟 Why This Matters — Optimism at the Core

Yes — content is still king. But today’s kingdom isn’t ruled by attention alone. It’s shaped by value, experience, and connection. Content that helps, entertains, educates, or simply makes someone’s day better will always find an audience. And as long as platforms evolve (from search engines to social networks and beyond), content — when done right — will continue to be the bridge between brands and people.

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It’s time to be new year, new you

full of energy,great health and gratitude

new year,new you

full of potential,life full of goals and chances

new year,new you

forget the past traumas,the bad breakups,the bad experiences

become the new year, new you

take the oath to change yourself , take the oath to become a new version of yourself

to become the new year, for the new you…

Tell me your thoughts in the comments??

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I barely passed my fourth semester as I didn't study anything due to my schizophrenia.(I am on less medications now).

Side note: I had a crush from first sem but things didn't work out as i had not talked to her and during schizophrenia i send her some weird msgs which my mom deleted later.

During summer break after fourth sem, we had Personality development classes,I had developed a crush there named L(if you're reading this hi, L:)). I had also started intense masturbation and porn during my summer break of 2-3 times a day in a gap of 1-2days.Then,Sem 5 begin i somehow balanced my studies with porn.I had to work on the group project alone as my teammates didn't help me in anything,heck they were not even showing for project.

Then during sem 5 my nerve pain begins intensely, i was hiding it all along but my mom figured it out twice (moms have that instinct ig😅)and she taught me not to masturbate and not to watch porn.I tried watching videos,podcats and ted talks on porn addiction, I tried journaling a bit nothing seems to work out.

I joined yoga classes during my winter break and started journaling my journey on substack which helped me.I have not watched any porn from the past 12-13 days and erections happens during wet dreams or if i feel like it.I am learning to quit it.So,this was and is my journey, tell me yours in the comments.

Check out Part 1 on Medium

https://medium.com/@kushu33805/porn-addiction-a-problem-for-teenagers-and-adults-alike-ddf5353ed769

After I was lost in porn,I barely focused in my 12th grade exams.I passed it with decent score but i and my parents know my potential was much more than that.Then came the fu*king entrance JEE ( it is divided into mains and advance one of the toughest examinations of my country).I passed JEE mains somehow by watching online tutorials (I was still lost in porn btw 😅).So, can't focus but somehow cleared it with no so flying colors.

Then came the big daddy, D- day JEE Advance exam which i failed miserably due to my over consumption of porn (PS:during my online tutorials i also develop a crush on a mam). Then by giving local state CET(Common Entrance Test) fairly easy than JEE.I got on to a decent Engineering college i think so (maybe who cares).

Then, i develop severe depression due to my scores and whatever happened during that time but that is a different blog.I also was masturbating from 15 yrs old(PS : I have masturbated to an actress named CD thousands of times).I then, started my college life. During my college first year,i only masturbated twice a week, i was going to college regularly, gym regularly etc.

Then,during second year i was diagnosed with high blood pressure by birth, so I had to go through aorta balloon angioplasty which can be a blog of it's own.I quitted masturbation and porn during these times but still cannot get it out of my head. After a while, i started again this times 2 times a day every 2 days.

A project incident also happened during my 2nd year which is when someone though me out of a group project becoz i didn't contributed.Then,during fourth semester I was diagnosed with schizophrenia and later bipolar which can be it's own blog or hell even book. For a few months, i had multiple erections when i sleep due to reasons.Also a college professor used to remind me of an actress which i used to masturbate to( I will take that name to the grave.I am looking at you my college friends don't ask me the name.) I was masturbating to SV to Jlo to wolf of wall street(if u know, u know😏).

wait for part 3 it will be uploaded very soon and will be shorter.

I have listened to that audiobook titled “Your brain on Porn” on how porn affects your mind.

It has interesting experiment on rats where for one dopamine spike a rat takes electric shock for himself or when he is bored from one partner he chases the next( true for humans as well 😂) but we are better than that, right?.This has taken me huge guts to write this but porn destroyed my life for sometime. I cannot focus on junior college and entrance exams because of it.(Ps: somehow i cleared it all and ended up in a college).

I have learned to control my porn and masturbation addiction but it's still doesn't going away entirely and there are more distractions that ever before social media platforms like instagtam, X etc.Becuase of this, i have severe lower back pain and sciatic nerve pain examined by my doctor,also ED.So, if you're reading this there is no happy ending in porn addiction just plain old dopamine spike makes you lonely, alone and above all hopeless.

In the end, I am learning to change I will share my journey as a journal.So, yeh that's it go subscribe and restack so that more people can know your wish :) .

Every day, millions of people wake up with the same silent thought:

“I know I can be more than this.”

But psychology shows something strange — even when people want to grow, most never move beyond their current identity. Not because they lack talent, skills, or opportunity…

but because they are trapped inside a psychological loop they don’t even realize they’re in.

Today, I want to show you the science of identity change — and how you can use psychology to break through plateaus, reinvent your mind, and step into the future version of you.

This isn’t motivation.

This is cognitive psychology + behavioral science + your real life.

---

1. Your Brain Is Designed to Keep You the Same

Humans evolved to survive, not to transform.

Your brain’s #1 job is predictability. Safety = “same as yesterday.”

That’s why trying to become a “new you” feels uncomfortable.

Your brain sees change as a threat, even if it’s good for you.

When you say:

“I want to be confident,”

“I want to be disciplined,”

“I want to be successful,”

Your brain asks:

“Is this predictable for us?”

If the answer is no — resistance begins.

This is why willpower fails.

This is why habits break.

This is why goals collapse in 3 weeks.

It’s not your fault.

It’s biology.

---

2. The Identity Gap: Where People Get Stuck

Psychologists call this the intent–behavior gap — the space between what we want and what we do.

But deeper than that is the identity gap:

You want success → but your self-image still says you are “not ready.”

You want discipline → but your identity says you’re “inconsistent.”

You want confidence → but your mind still views you as “the shy one.”

Your results can never outperform your identity.

Identity is the operating system beneath all behavior.

---

3. The Future Self Principle

A breakthrough study by Stanford psychologist Dr. Hal Hershfield revealed something incredible:

People who vividly imagine their “future self” make better decisions today.

Why?

Because the brain stops seeing the future self as a stranger and starts seeing them as you.

This single shift increases:

goal follow-through

financial decisions

health habits

self-discipline

resilience

In simple terms:

You act in the present according to who you believe you’re becoming.

---

4. How to Rewire Your Identity in 3 Steps

Here’s the part most people never hear:

Identity isn’t something you discover.

It’s something you build.

Step 1 — Create a “One-Year Future Self”

Not 10 years. Not 5 years.

One year.

Ask:

What does that version of me believe?

How do they speak?

What habits are automatic for them?

What do they no longer tolerate?

Clarity produces momentum.

Step 2 — Change Through Micro-Evidence

Your brain rewires based on evidence, not affirmations.

Instead of saying:

“I am disciplined.”

Do one small action that proves it:

10 push-ups

reading 2 pages

cleaning your desk for 3 minutes

sending one difficult message

Micro-actions → micro-evidence → identity shift.

Step 3 — Remove the Old Identity Triggers

Your environment shapes your psychology more than willpower:

same apps

same people

same morning routine

same workspace

same conversations

If nothing external changes, nothing internal will.

---

5. Why This Works So Fast

Because you are not forcing a new identity.

You are teaching your brain:

“This is who we are now.”

Identity becomes a feedback loop:

New identity → new actions

New actions → new evidence

New evidence → stronger identity

This is how people transform quickly without feeling fake or overwhelmed.

---

6. The Hard Truth: Most People Never Attempt Identity Change

People chase hacks, motivation, routines, morning rituals…

but avoid the real work:

Redesigning who they believe they are.

The moment you shift your identity, your behavior follows automatically.

You don’t “try” to be disciplined.

You are someone who is disciplined.

You don’t “try” to be confident.

You are someone who handles challenges.

You don’t “try” to be consistent.

You are someone who shows up.

Identity is destiny.

---

7. Start Today: A 2-Minute Identity Reset

Right after reading this, answer these three questions:

1. Who is the version of me I’m becoming in the next 12 months?

2. What is one micro-action I can take today to align with that identity?

3. What is one environment trigger I will remove this week?

This tiny exercise reprograms your psychology faster than 30 days of routines.

---

Final Thought

Transformation isn’t a miracle.

It’s a psychological process.

And the moment you stop living from your past self

and start acting from your future self —

everything accelerates.

Your clarity.

Your confidence.

Your life.

The future you is waiting.

Go meet them.