What argument do you think I’m making? I posted about some things I was going through, was clearly looking for general advice (not debate), got name-called and demeaned by one person out of nowhere while others gave normal advice, tried to make the person aware that they were violating the tone set forth in the post, got attacked further, tried to fight back and what - now I’m in a debate? I didn’t sign up for a debate session or a roast. This is obviously a vulnerable post and should be pretty easy to follow suit with the other commenters who posted normally. Not everything related to constructive criticism is about debate. You can provide constructive criticism without offering debate per se.

You keep adding parts to your comment. Just make a new comment.

I’ve turned inward plenty. It’s valid that I feel gaslit. I should trust my instincts.

No the other guy effing loves Israel. You love guns. Also why are you making a big deal of me awkwardly trying to solve some issues in my life by calling it weird? Don’t you think I have a reason to be on here? You’re both being straight up bullies.

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The left welcomes the strange fyi.

Yeah you’re just being a bully.

Are you trying to be a bully?

I have this pelvic bone thing. I’m 5’ 10.25", I think average for men is 5’ 9". A lot of puberty things have been lagging including my apache beard, virtually no hair on torso or arms, squeaky crackly young sounding half broken voice, and yeah exactly slight development of breast tissue. No one has ever said anything about my chromosomes though.

Like what? What else might I have? I’m going mostly by appearances. I guess my voice never completely broke and I’m already 30 but I thought that might be kallmann syndrome or similar.

It seems pretty obvious just from the outside. It sticks out like one or two inches or so on either side right at the pelvic bone. Males I’ve seen always just have a straight line from armpit to waist.

Okay well I guess I wasn’t being as technical as that. I meant like I’m worried the rain is now all toxic in one way or another such as being filled with microplastics even rain falling over the middle of the Amazon for instance because of urban activity everywhere else in the world. Not literal acid. Polluted rainwater.

Yeah as I go read more it seems like what I’m more concerned with is OSAT (open source appropriate technology) where there is heavy consideration of sustainability. Also some of the things people are mentioning here which seems to kind of overlap - open source ecology, right to repair, etc. I think though I’m kind of wanting like a deliberate synthesis of all of this, the whole range of issues, almost like the intersection of ‘green politics’ and open source everything. I feel like that intersection doesn’t get nearly enough attention. I don’t know if it’s because the ‘science wars’ make it a little awkward or what.

Central valley California. Mass industrial agriculture central.

Well that’s a good point. I used to live in an even smaller town and had to walk only maybe a block to get to a little hispanic shop with two short aisles of groceries where I got everything I needed about every other day. I miss those times. There were these feral chickens roaming the little park I had to walk through and where I lived was the first place of my own. Good memories. I remember getting pork rinds too from that shop.

Anyway now I go to a big box grocery store kind of generic but also has a lot of hispanic products and style.

There was a time I lived in a different small town in a boarding house and would get extra snacks and food from the dollar general which was like a mile away. Sometimes I would be carrying two or three bags. I remember rummaging through their movie bins every time I went there to see if there were any must-haves. When I lived there I would also go the 7/11 and do basically the same routine.

I’m just really traumatized by Facebook and all that. Sorry if I come off as triggerhappy or abrasive. I did see much of your point. It seems like our lives are increasingly based in cyberspace now for better, worse, or neither; so I feel like I’m fleeing an abusive domestic situation (big tech platforms as a home) where there was extensive trauma bonding going on between me and the algorithms.

I’ve been all over the map on this historically looking at every angle - there’s no understating that. After just such deep and broad consideration, at this point I think it is perfectly fair to be deathly concerned that big tech and the power structure of which they are a part do not remotely have our interests at heart. They have all of this psychological knowledge about addiction to which you refer, and they are using it to make people more addicted, more engaged, more dependent, all to make more money. It’s actually simple in that respect. It is my old naivety to even begin to think again that there is something socially responsible left at the foundation of big tech. I am not a flawless specimen of mental health independent of big tech, but the economic model upon which they are based is an important aspect of my overall problem in life. There is more room to heal, more room to breathe and lick my wounds apart from them on balance, so that is where I am headed. I am surprised that a decade after Edward Snowden there are actually still people saying “don’t be afraid” implying that the system is fundamentally good.

It’s not extremist to point out how messed up this massive tech supermachine is and how it’s milking us all mercilessly for every last dollar and cent and calorie. If you think that is radical then you are unfortunately quite deep in the machine. Things have to fundamentally change.

When I lived in that nice middle class neighborhood growing up there was a drive-by shooting (which we all completely panicked about and made a huge deal), a meth lab that was discovered one day three doors down (the police came with hazmat suits and everything), my drug-addicted uncle was often wandering into the house drugged up on heroin, and there was this longstanding story about a guy a few houses down the other street who killed his wife then went up to a nearby mountain and shot himself. People had been warning me about poor neighborhoods all my life up until I was 21 saying they were even worse. But since winding up constantly in poor neighborhoods I’ve never been mugged, developed a generally thick skin, basic street smarts, learned who not to look in the eye, what not to do, how to react, how not to react, stay out of people’s business, what situations lead to what other situations, don’t be such a stickler about every little crime or suspicion of crime, listen to some gansta rap, know the greats, vibe, and everything is gravy. Seems simple to me now. Now I just enjoy the neighborhood. Birds chirping. Trees swaying. Haven’t heard about any murders, meth labs, and I can afford a place of my own, or at least a room of my own. It’s better than being a thin-skinned suburbanite who finds themselves walking on eggshells the minute a wild crime-ish energy appears.

Being paranoid about getting robbed wasn’t exactly my anxiety though. It was a lot more so the physical proximity to locally powerful people who make decisions every day that ruin dozens or even hundreds of lives in big ways with total impunity making me wonder how they are actually willing to entrap and hurt me or to have me be hurt. I hardly ever go to my dad’s house anyway. Material possessions aren’t a big factor in my sense of security. I have very little social competence in dealing with powerful people aligned for whatever reason in whatever way against me let alone physical competence (i.e. police), but there is a sense of social competence I have with people who would rob in a poor neighborhood. It’s like a different bioregion and I feel like it is increasingly separating from the entire rest of America like a checkerboard. I have seen so few police cars lately, it’s strange.

Grandma died. I also kind of realized that my dad probably has dementia. So now the core of my “support system” has fallen apart. I have a theory about where my grandma got reincarnated to - somewhere good; but my dad I think is slowly taking on the life of a cockroach in an old trailer I used to live in. I have theories about dementia and reincarnation. That’s what my grandma had. Vascular dementia. Anyway, with my dad no longer able to competently screw with my head I feel kind of liberated. My music finally feels like really good music. I’m like a really good musician I feel like now. Like I’m really confident all of sudden listening to my own music. I guess my dad, once upon a time mentally competent, always actively made me feel inadequate musically.