The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: blogging to feel alive

  • Fighting on Your Own Terms: Debt, Defiance, and Building a Life That’s Mine

    Three months ago, I was in significant amounts of debt, wandering through jobs I didn’t like belong in, and trying to resist life’s pre-existing scripts. Today, I’m down by thousands and building a foundation for the life I actually want. Here’s the updates so far.

    Ainsi Bas Ma Vie: That’s How My Life Goes

    Three months ago, I wrote about the mountain of debt I accumulated before and after I started living on my own — over a huge deal worth of debt— and how it threatened to define my life before I even truly had a chance to shape it.

    Since then, I’ve chipped away at it, one payment, one decision, one stubborn move at a time. Today, the number is still daunting.

    It’s not gone. It’s still heavy. But it’s shrinking, and with every dollar, I reclaim a little more agency over my life.

    I’m terrified of debt because of how much it stops me from doing and experiencing things I want to do and try out.

    I never liked how all of my attention has to go to debt, it’s super draining, but at least I can see the near end of the pothole filled road I drove onto myself because of the choices I made over time. Though I’m slowly getting closer to smoother pavement. Just a little closer now.

    Choosing a Path That Feels Like Me

    Speaking of choices, growing up, I was told what my life “should” look like. Work in hotels — the backbone of our local economy. Join the family’s construction business. Learn Japanese. Take the safe route. Follow the script.

    I tried none of it. The roles didn’t fit me. I didn’t like crowds, didn’t thrive in certain structures, didn’t want my last name to carry me into someone else’s office. I wanted to forge my own path, even if I had no map.

    So I wandered through jobs and higher education—with how long I was in-and-out of school, I could have gotten my Master’s degree in something. Instead, I’m a University and community college “drop out.”

    I think I’ve written about how I don’t have a degree. Surprisingly, I have a Liberal Arts degree, but, to my knowledge, this degree hasn’t really helped anyone out.

    Plus, I don’t have the diploma framed, I don’t have it at all, so I don’t have that fancy paper saying I did go through higher education. Either way, to me, a Liberals Degree is useless, or I haven’t figured out how to frame this degree as useful, helpful, and to other people’s benefit. Oh, well.

    Anyways, the jobs I took were often in roles that others might dismiss, or outright scoff at: customer service, grocery work, fresh food — jobs without fancy titles or corner offices.

    Guess what? This is true to some extent, but this was my fault for barring myself from opportunities I could have taken when I didn’t bother looking for and applying to scholarships or internships to stick it out.

    The “Should have, could have, would have’s” of the world at play people, let’s hear it.

    These jobs weren’t glamorous, but they were mine. I was building a foundation with the tools I had, no matter how much I hated them and myself for working there.

    Rage, Rebellion, and Sanity

    Some of those jobs taught me one thing clearly: never put my sanity on the line for someone else’s frustration. People will take their anger out on the easy target — and I learned quickly I didn’t want to be that target.

    My current work — a warehouse job and a rage room gig — are dualities of that script.

    Work at the warehouse gives me so much energy to want to destroy things and want to break people, so much people piss me off, but I need to keep my cool here.

    In customer service at the rage room, people vent, but not on me. They break objects, not spirits. I get paid, they get release, and I keep my energy for building my future. It’s still work, but it’s aligned with my boundaries and my life philosophy.

    One Step, One Victory at a Time

    Like the protagonist in Indila’s Ainsi Bas La Vida, I’ve resisted a world that wanted to define me. Instead of picking someone to love who isn’t socially acceptable, I’ve walked a path that was messy, even if it’s slower, less glamorous, and full of obstacles.

    And, like Indila’s story in Ainsi Bas La Vida, there’s always risk, judgment, and uncertainty — but also the thrill of making choices that are truly mine.

    Every payment toward debt, every post, sticker, hoodie, manifesto, and careful decision is a brick in the foundation of the life I’m building. One that I own. One that I’ve fought for.

    The debt still exists, but it’s become manageable. Not gone. But every number represents resilience, agency, and the refusal to fade quietly because of someone else’s expectations.

    I don’t know when the journey will end, or if I’ll ever feel fully “done” with it. But I do know this: I’m choosing my fights, protecting my mind, and constructing a life that’s mine — piece by piece, step by step.

    Reflection

    If anything here resonates, I want you to take a moment and honor your own fight.

    Maybe you’re battling debt, following a path others don’t understand, or just trying to carve space for yourself in a world that wants to keep you small.

    Every little victory matters. Every decision that aligns with your values is a rebellion worth celebrating.

    If my words connect with you, consider liking, subscribing, or sharing this post. Every share helps others who feel stuck, unheard, or underestimated find this little corner of the internet — a space to remember that it’s okay to rage against the world’s expectations while building the life you truly want.

    Keep raging. Keep building. Keep shining.

    Building One Brick at a Time

  • What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?

    What Direction Will This Go?

    That’s been the question — one of many — I’ve been wrestling with since publishing The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In. It’s only been a full 24 hours since that post, but when your mind never rests, it can feel like days of circling the same thoughts.

    Lately, I’ve felt frustrated. Not because I’m unhappy with The Stratagem’s Archive or what I’ve built here — far from it. I’ve written every day, fought for every minute I could spare, and turned stubborn rage into creation. But now, the spark that once drove me feels dim.

    The words still come, but they don’t echo anymore.

    It’s not a lack of ideas. I have more than enough of those. It’s that I don’t feel excited to write them. I’ve been walking the same path, and the scenery hasn’t changed. I don’t like the current trajectory. I don’t like how it feels to move without wonder.

    In The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In, I wrote about shining light into emptiness — shouting into the void and getting nothing back. That feeling hasn’t gone away. The progress has slowed, the spark has dulled, and I’ve begun to wonder:

    What if I stopped shouting? What if I just listened instead?

    Maybe that’s what I need. Not more words.

    But silence sturdy enough to hold the ones I’ll write next.

    I don’t know how long I’ll step away, or what form The Stratagem’s Archive will take when I return. But I know this much: what got me this far can’t take me further. And that’s okay. Growth often begins where repetition ends.

    This isn’t the end. It’s a pause — a necessary one.

    To everyone who has read, shared, subscribed, or quietly returned to read again: thank you. Every click, every like, every minute you’ve given me has meant more than you know. I didn’t think anyone would ever find this little corner of mine, but I’m glad to have been proven wrong.

    While I won’t be posting for a while, I’ll still be around the archives — cleaning, updating, and letting the silence settle in for once. Maybe in that quiet, I’ll finally hear what comes next.

    Until then, I’ll see you all in the archives later.

    Reflection Question for Readers

    When was the last time you stopped creating, chasing, or producing — and simply listened to what silence was trying to tell you?

    Call to Action

    If you’ve been following The Stratagem’s Archive, consider liking, sharing, subscribing, sitting quietly, or revisiting your favorite posts while I’m away.

    Leave a comment about what post resonated most with you — your reflections help me see what the void is saying back.

    Thank You For Reaching the End

    Revisit Prior Posts Below

  • I’m Afraid of the Finality of the Night

    A Companion Reflection to Rage Against the Spirit That Wants to Fade into the Night

    The Dread of Knowing and Seeing the End

    I can talk about raging against rules and expectations that don’t fit me; I can build whatever I can to have proof that I lived : through my blog, my little artifacts such as my stickers, my hoodie, my manifestos, newsletters, my mini ebook, and my business cards I’m making because why not?

    But when everything slows down, when the world grows quiet and the noise outside fades just enough for the noise inside to take over, I start to feel that fear again.

    Truthfully, I’m afraid of the finality of the night — that curtain call that says, “you’re done” for good.

    No do-overs. No begging or bargaining for more time. Just the stillness that comes after a life that tried its best.

    And that terrifies me.

    I can’t stop the clock from marching forward any more than I can stop the next sunrise. Every word I write, every post I publish, every idea I turn into something tangible — it’s my way of buying back the borrowed time I’ve got.

    I’m not trying to outrun death; I’m just trying to make my life mean something before it finds me.

    My Physical and Visceral Reminder

    This morning, I woke up in pain. My chest felt like it was caving in, as though someone had kicked me hard and left their mark behind. The kind of pain that forces you to remember you have a body — and that the body has limits. I almost called in sick, that was how much pain I was in. I almost didn’t want to get out of bed.

    But I did, because I had to start moving and the day didn’t start long enough to be done with me yet.

    And maybe that’s the strange blessing in it — the pain reminded me that I’m still here, suspended between being alive and the inevitable.

    It’s both horrifying and grounding.

    What unsettles me more is how many people seem fine with this march toward nothing. How easily they sleep while the world keeps collapsing in slow motion.

    Maybe ignorance really is bliss. Maybe I just see too much. Or maybe my rage and overactive mind are reinforcing what I value over the usual socials scripts.

    My mind won’t stop mapping every small end to the larger one — every silence, every ache, every undone thing that might’ve been enough, if only there was more time.

    But time is finite for us mortal things, suspended in space. So, I’m still doing what I can to reduce the amount of regrets I’ll have at the end of my life.

    I’m still learning to accept: fear doesn’t mean failure. It’s proof that I still care enough to stay awake while everyone else sleeps.

    Maybe that’s what living is — not escaping the night, but refusing to let it take everything with it.

    Reflection for Readers

    If anything I said this early dawn resonates with you — if you’ve ever felt the same dread settle in your chest when the world goes quiet — then maybe you’re not alone in it. Maybe you’re just human, still trying to make sense of the noise.

    If this reflection spoke to you, consider liking, sharing, or subscribing to The Stratagem’s Archive. It helps this small, growing corner of the internet reach others who rage against the quiet too — the ones who build, create, and keep searching for meaning even when the night feels final.

    Other Reflections

    Proof I Made That I’m Alive

  • Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists)

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here

    Dear, Fellow Archivist,

    When you joined this archive, I promised you something: my first manifesto — the one that started this whole thing.

    That promise matters. So today, you’ll find it here:

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0

    But this archive is alive. It grows. And so do I.

    Which is why I’m sending you something else, too:

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5

    The first manifesto was short, sharp, and written from survival.

    The second was written from growth, exhaustion, and the refusal to disappear. Together, they tell the story of a fire that didn’t go out.

    And because archives aren’t only words, I’ve included something visual too:

    These are a few early sticker designs I’ve been playing with using Canva. They’re a small line of experiments, ideas brought to life — small pieces of this archive you could carry.

    Sticker Idea #1
    Sticker Idea #2
    Sticker Idea #3
    Sticker Idea #4

    Everything I’ve made wouldn’t have happened without all of you, Fellow Archivists, for finding this little pocket of the internet of mine and watching it grow.

    Thank you for subscribing. Thank you for returning, even in the quiet. Every time someone new joins, this archive shifts from being just mine to being ours.

    Take what resonates. Leave what doesn’t. And if you feel like it, hit reply — I’d love to know which part of either manifesto spoke to you most.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S. If you’d like a sticker, please let me know. I only have a limited supply coming in. I gotta work to build my funds to supply for designs and more things to make (i.e. keychains and book markers).

    I think you could let me know in this post’s comment section or email me at whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com, and I’ll respond as soon as I possibly can. I don’t check this email as often, so I’ll set a reminder to do so.

    This is my way of saying thank you and that I’m excited to share something with you all.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • Can Sharing Honestly Be Enough? Reflections From Blogging Without a Strategy

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    I’ve been writing honestly on WordPress for three months now, with no strategy except to show up. Since the end of June 2025, I’ve published over 70 posts — some sparked by daily prompts, others just raw reflections written on tired days, quiet days, angry days, and confusing days.

    I’ve made a downloadable The Stratagem’s Manifesto and started a newsletter, Letters from the Void Newsletter. I’ve noticed return readers, quiet likes, and even one person brave enough to leave a comment.

    And yet, the question lingers in the back of my mind:

    Can sharing honestly be enough?

    Three Months of Honest Blogging

    I didn’t come here with a strategy. At least, not one that looks like the question, “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” I still can’t answer that for myself outside of this blog.

    I just had an idea: share whatever comes to mind, and see what happens.

    Other than that, I didn’t bring credentials, a network, or a plan to outsmart the algorithm. I didn’t want to pretend to be someone I couldn’t believe in just to be seen quicker.

    I came with words — messy, sincere, uncertain, sometimes tired, sometimes angry.

    I Didn’t Come Here With a Strategy

    I started writing here because my first attempt at blogging failed quietly. But this time, I had too much to say and no one to say it to.

    I have people and family I can talk to, but not about the topics I share here — not without pushback, second-guessing, or leaving those conversations doubting myself even more.

    So I chose to write.

    To have a record.

    To prove, if only to myself, that I was here.

    Fools Can Only Hope

    Some days I feel like a fool — not the clever archetype, just someone who thinks maybe all this matters more than it looks like it does from the outside.

    Maybe if I tell the truth long enough, someone else might feel less alone in their own head.

    I call myself an autodidact — I prefer learning things on my own, at my own pace. I don’t have a degree that opens doors, or mentors clearing paths for me.

    What I do have is curiosity. And a stubborn hope that it’s still possible to build something slowly, honestly, and from the ground up.

    And it’s hard.

    Because some days, the work feels invisible — like shouting into a void, shining the small light I have at the edge of nothingness.

    Which is something I’ve covered in this earlier post called, Do You Ever Feel Like You’re Writing Into A Void?

    Other days, I notice a familiar like, a new newsletter sign-up, or a silent reader who keeps coming back.

    And that means something.

    That means I’m not writing into the void anymore.

    I’m writing from the space in-between.

    And someone’s out there, hearing it.

    Can Honesty Be Enough?

    So… can honesty be enough?

    I don’t know.

    But I’m still here.

    I’m still writing.

    And maybe that’s the answer for now.

    A Note to Fellow Archivists

    If any part of this piece resonates, I’d love to invite you to pause for a moment and reflect on your own journey.

    What part of your story feels messy, uncertain, or unfinished right now? Where are you weary, wondering, or wandering? What small reminder do you need today that you don’t have to fit neatly into anyone’s expectations?

    You don’t have to share your reflections out loud — sometimes it’s enough just to notice them for yourself. But if you’d like, you’re always welcome to write them in the comments, or even send them my way privately.

    This space is here so that we can remind ourselves and each other: you’re not alone in this.

    If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.

    However you choose to engage — silently reading, reflecting privately, or joining in the conversation — you’re part of this archive. Thank you for being here.

  • A Sanctuary for the Weary, Wondering, and Wandering

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    No Rest for the Wicked, Weary, and Wild-Hearted Who Just Keep Going.

    There’s no shortage of loud voices out there — telling you how to fix yourself, to work harder, numb certain emotions, workout 7 days a week, take cold plunges, or fit into something you’ve never belonged to. I’ve tried a lot of things.

    Maybe not everything, however, none of the things I tried from mainstream sources made me whole. I felt more fragmented, disorganized, disappointed, and left behind than when I started.

    This Blog Wasn’t Made to Go Viral

    It was built for those of us who are still here — despite the weight, the numbness, the anger, the tired bones, the cracked foundations we’re rebuilding with our own hands.

    If that’s you, then you already understand:

    It’s not weakness to keep showing up — It’s strength. It’s courage. It’s survival. It’s showing up when it counts and matters.

    Maybe you’re looking for answers to your own questions — I’ll be honest and say that you wont find any here. I’m not an expert, I don’t have any answers, and I made this a place that doesn’t demand you to perform or pretend. Just be.

    A place to feel something real.

    To feel a little less alone in the noise of our lives and the expectations we face.

    That’s What This Blog Is

    Not a solution. Not a soapbox. Not a funnel.

    A quiet kind of fight. A refuge. A story in progress. Everything is built while in motion and with little rest.

    You don’t have to comment, like, or subscribe, though doing so helps others like you and me find this place where we can be.

    If something here speaks to you, I hope it reminds you that you’re not alone — even if the world makes you feel that way.

    The weary are welcome here.

    The curious, the angry, the soft-hearted, the heavy-limbed — all of you.

    This is for us, The Fellow Archivists..

    The ones still wandering — but never lost.

    You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    Do You Ever Feel Like You’re Writing Into A Void?

  • The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    When Did You Stop Playing It Safe?

    Or are you still waiting for someone, other than yourself, to give you the green light?

    It hit me in the bathroom — the kind of thought that slips in when the world is quiet and you’re standing there, catching your own reflection in bad lighting. I thought back to my situation and asked:

    “Why did I stop playing it safe?”

    I had my own reasons for betting on myself and permit myself to build something from nothing.

    I used to think I couldn’t start anything: No degree. No polished resume. No mentors. No fancy title or job that would validate me.

    I wasn’t a writer, but I was just someone with a lot of feelings and nowhere to put them. I thought I had to earn a voice before using it.

    I Played It Safe For Years

    And then one day, I got tired of my own silence.

    No big lightning bolt. No overnight transformation. Just… the simmering realization that no one was coming to rescue me or hand me a permission slip. So I stopped waiting.

    I started this blog not because I had a plan or a niche, but because I had nothing to lose. I was angry. Tired. Fed up with life passing me by while I sat on the bench, hoping someone would pick me for their team.

    I picked myself instead.

    This Isn’t Happy Hour — It’s 2AM Hour.

    My blog isn’t curated for “happy hour” energy.

    It’s not the shiny, filtered, “I’ve got it all figured out” performance people put on at networking events or in the comment sections of self-help threads.

    This space is for 2am honesty.

    You know the kind — when your defenses are down, the mask slips off, and someone finally says,

    “Actually? I’m not okay. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m still here.”

    If this blog is a bar, I’m the bartender. I don’t drink, and I’ve never worked in a bar — but I’m here, wiping the counter down with stories from a life I didn’t think anyone would want to hear about.

    The bar’s mostly quiet.

    A couple of regulars lurk in the corners, reading without saying much.

    The jukebox is broken.

    But I keep talking, just in case someone walks in needing to hear something you only say when the lights are low and nobody’s performing.

    I Don’t Have a Niche — I Have a Pulse

    I’ve written and will write about:

    • What it’s like to work in a rage room while living in a body full of pain.
    • Paying off $15K in debt working two jobs, while trying not to let my jobs own me.
    • Learning to code again after a decade of shame and bad experiences.
    • What happens when my inner critic gets too loud to ignore.
    • Trying to trust AI to help me build, without losing my voice to it.
    • Taking life advice from video games more than self-help books.
    • And much more.

    I don’t have clean answers. I’m not here to teach or preach. I’m just writing to remember that I’m alive — and to see if anyone out here feels the same things I do, even if they call it something different.

    So I’ll Ask You:

    When did you stop playing it safe?

    Or maybe a better question is —

    What would you do if you stopped waiting to be ready?

    Would you finally start that blog, that painting, that email, that messy first draft of something you’ve been hiding behind “someday”?

    Would you speak up, even if your voice shakes?

    Would you stop waiting for someone to crown you and say, “Okay, now you’re allowed to exist out loud”?

    You don’t have to reply back — even silently nodding along is good enough because you’ve been in this strange in-between as I have.

    I don’t know who’s going to read this. Maybe no one. Maybe just a handful of quiet people passing through like ghosts.

    But if you’re here, if you’ve made it this far…

    This is your invitation to stop playing it safe.

    You’re allowed to be messy. To begin. To exist on your own terms.

    You don’t need credentials to tell your story.

    You just need to be brave enough to speak — even if it’s only to yourself at first.

    I lit a flare, wondering if there’s anyone else who see’s.

    If you see it from across the void, I see you, and you are welcome here anytime.

    —

    The Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S: Hey there. If you’ve missed my other posts, you can find the newer ones here down below. Or, if you’d like, you can check out my newsletter Letters from the Void Newsletter, here or check out my little PDF manifesto, Thank You + Free Download, here as a thank you for making it here to the end.

    Otherwise, everyone, I will see you all later in the archives.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    The Whisper of a Far Off Promise — of Freedom, Choice, and Rest.

  • Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    When Silence Has Claws.

    For years prior, I would wonder what it would be like to sit in silence. Not just, “oh, this is rather quiet”, kind of quiet.

    No music. No podcasts. No background noise to hold me together.

    Pure silence.

    Just me, my steering wheel, and everything I thought I’d buried deep enough to never hear again.

    At first, I tried to talk to myself out loud — about the weather, what I was making for dinner, the errands I needed to run. Anything to keep the thoughts at bay.

    But the silence didn’t care.

    It waited.

    And the more I filled that space with meaningless conversation, the more the real voices — the ones I keep locked up — started to rise.

    “You’re a failure.”

    “You’ve done nothing with your life.”

    “You’ll be forgotten just like all the other nobodies.”

    “Why do you even try?”

    They didn’t whisper.

    They screamed.

    And eventually, I stopped pretending I didn’t hear them.

    I stopped trying to talk over them.

    I gave them the mic.

    And what came out was venom. Acid. Grief. Rage.

    Years of things I never said out loud.

    Years of thoughts that weren’t allowed in the daylight.

    Years of versions of myself clawing at the walls, trying to be heard.

    I hated every word I spoke in that silence.

    But I kept speaking.

    Because for the first time, I wasn’t censoring myself for anyone.

    I wasn’t lying about how I was doing.

    I wasn’t putting a polite filter on survival.

    I gave myself a deadline since I was 12 years old. All because of a gaming mechanic from a game called, “Dragon Age: Origins” (BioWare), where, when you became something called a, “Grey Warden”, you’d have 20 years left to live.

    I wish I could explain why I held onto that idea since then — I don’t know why myself, but it’s been with me for that long. My 20 years draws closer.

    By 32, if life doesn’t feel like it’s worth it — if I’m still drowning and nothing has shifted — I’d end it.

    I wouldn’t leave a mess.

    I’ve already made sure everything I own passes legally to my parents.

    And then I’d be gone.

    Not out of drama.

    Not for attention.

    Just tiredness.

    Quiet, heavy tiredness that no nap can fix.

    But the thing is — I’m also afraid of following through.

    Afraid of how fast it’s moving.

    Afraid of how quickly I’ll get to that deadline.

    Afraid I won’t have built anything by then that makes me want to stay.

    Maybe I’ve been thinking about this deadline in the wrong way. Maybe I don’t need a literal death, rather a different kind of ending is needed. Even by my deadline, I just need to pivot, to change directions, because I can always change my mind. I contradict myself, I’m rarely consistent in my thoughts unless it’s to put myself down, but I keep pushing through that personal miasma and show up anyways.

    So I rage.

    I write.

    I stretch.

    I keep moving.

    I’d rather burn myself out at both ends trying to make something than live quietly. Life has much to offer and I’d want to see as much of it as possible.

    Not out of hope.

    But out of spite.

    Because if I’m going to be forced to exist, I’m going to make noise. Even in the silence.

    You don’t fully meet yourself until the silence strips everything away.

    Until there’s no one else to impress.

    No one else to lie to.

    No more distractions.

    Just you.

    And all your demons are sitting in the front seat asking, “Now what?”

    You Made It Through

    If you’ve ever driven in silence and hated every second of it — If you’ve ever stared into the void of your own thoughts and heard them answer back — I won’t tell you it gets better.

    For me, I’ve learned to sit with myself without destroying myself in the moment like before.

    But you’re not alone when the silence brings up stuff you’d rather not acknowledge, but it does exist here with you in your own moments.

    So, tell me—

    Have you fully met yourself in the silence?

    And if you haven’t…

    What are you afraid you’ll hear?

    If this resonated with you, then I’d like to invite you to check out my first newsletter, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything. Or even my PDF as a thank you from me to you, The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    No pressure, no spam, just sharing something I made with you for taking the time to check out what I have to share here. Otherwise, I have other articles to share below that might showcase the variety of topics I tend to explore. Other than that, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Learning to Work With A.I. — Not Let It Think For Me

  • The Whisper of a Far Off Promise — of Freedom, Choice, and Rest.

    I want to rest, but I’m fighting to stay awake.

    I hear the voice of freedom beckoning me.

    It whispers, “One more line. One more idea.”

    And I can’t pretend to turn my back on it again.

    I’m Awake When The World is Asleep

    I often stare at the walls of my apartment; my light clock shines dimly on my face in the darkness. When it’s a tough night, I’ll struggle to sleep, then I look at the time and sigh heavily.

    It’s almost midnight. Again.

    I have to wake up at 2 a.m. if I want to find parking at the warehouse. That gives me maybe… an hour and a half of sleep if I try right now.

    But I won’t.

    Because something in me needs to write before the noise eats me alive.

    I know it’s reckless. I know its not sustainable, I’m tired — not in a poetic way, but in the real, physical, almost-broken way that makes your bones feel heavy and your thoughts turn against you. But if I don’t get these words out of my head, I’ll drown in them.

    Writing to Outrun the Thoughts

    The thoughts always come when I’m still and in motion, in the silence and in the noise.

    They tell me I’m a nobody.

    That I should be grateful to have any job — even one that eats my time and grinds down my health, mind, and soul.

    Because I don’t have a degree, or an impressive resume, or experience, or friends in high places who could help me out, I’m not valuable or worth anything enough to anyone else, and I don’t have a business either.

    That without this job, everything I’ve built would collapse under its own weight — rent, bills, debt, fear.

    But I keep writing. Because it’s the only thing I have that feels like mine.

    The Promise I Chased

    When I started this blog, I believed — truly believed — that I could turn my words into something sustainable. Not viral. Not a brand. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to build an escape hatch in case I got let go.

    Because that’s always possible, isn’t it?

    One shift cut. One bad quarter. One policy change. One injury or accident. One manager who decides I’m expendable.

    I thought maybe — just maybe — if I wrote enough, showed up enough, shared enough, someone would see me. Maybe I could earn a few dollars. Maybe people would support my work.

    And now, nearly 60 posts in, I find myself wondering:

    Was I wrong to believe in that idea?

    Was hope just a softer kind of trap?

    Questioning the Value of My Voice

    Who would pay to read this?

    What value have I created for anyone but myself?

    Those questions haunt me more than failure does. Because failure would at least mean I tried something big. But this? This feels like being stuck in-between — too tired to dream, too stubborn to quit.

    I work two jobs.

    My second one — a part-time gig at a rage room — helps me scrape by, but it could never support me if I lost my full-time warehouse job. That one is the anchor — and I’m terrified of what happens if it slips.

    Why I Moved Out (Even When I Couldn’t Afford To)

    I moved out not because I had to, but because I needed to.

    I didn’t want to keep leaning on my family. I wanted to learn how to stand on my own, to feel what it’s like to be fully responsible for myself. But no one tells you how hard independence really is when you have no safety net and no time.

    Even now, I don’t want to be a burden — not to them, not to anyone.

    But I feel like I’m at the mercy of everything outside me: schedules, bills, landlords, loud neighbors, shifts, exhaustion, bad sleep.

    Some days, I’m just surviving.

    Some days, not even that.

    My family supported my decision and claim I’ve grown since I moved out. Though, I wonder if they only see what they want to because, I don’t verbally share much of what’s going on with them, they tell me to appreciate what I have too. Even if it sucks, even if I hate it, it supports me, right?

    The Far-Off Promise

    And yet… there’s a whisper I keep chasing.

    It speaks to me in the quiet moments, when the city sleeps and my heart still believes in something more. It’s the promise of freedom. Of having time. Of waking up when my body’s ready, not when a schedule demands it. Of creating because I want to — not because I’m scrambling for escape.

    It’s the whisper of choice.

    Of rest.

    Of building a life instead of barely surviving one not meant for me.

    Somewhere, deep down, I still believe I might reach it. Even if it’s far off. Even if no one’s handed me a map.

    No One Is Coming to Save Me — But I’m Still Here

    No degree. No connections. No fancy job titles.

    But I’m still writing.

    Still working.

    Still showing up to my own life with a pen in my hand and a fire in my chest.

    Because if no one is coming to save me, then maybe I’ll save myself — word by word, post by post.

    This blog isn’t a business plan. Not anymore.

    It’s a record. A living document that says:

    I was here. I felt all of this. I wanted more. And I didn’t go quietly.

    To Anyone Else Still Dreaming

    If you’re stuck, tired, or holding onto your dream by a thread — I see you.

    If you’re working two jobs and still not making it,

    if you stay up late to feel human again,

    if you’re doing your best not to be a burden,

    if you’re chasing something no one else sees —

    you’re not alone.

    You’re not broken for wanting more.

    You’re not selfish for needing rest.

    You’re not lazy, or ungrateful, or too much.

    You’re just human. And the world isn’t set up for people like us.

    But we’re still here.

    Still writing.

    Still alive.

    That means something.

    If This Resonated…

    Subscribe to the blog — I write about survival, dreaming, burnout, and why we keep going. Leave a comment — even just one word. I’d love to know what this stirred in you. Share this post — maybe someone else needs it too.

    Or you could check out my newsletter here: Letters from the Void Newsletter.

    No spam, no pressure, just another thing to share. Or you could reflect on these few questions below if you’d like.

    1)What post of mine stuck with you—and why?

    2)What would you want to see more of?

    3)Would you support this space if I offered a way to?

    Now, that everything’s been said and done, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

  • Do You Really Want to Know?

    How are you feeling right now?

    There exist two sides of a story in this life, right? But what if we aren’t on either side, but are somewhere in the middle hanging in suspension? In a space people don’t talk about much unless, “they’ve made it?” What about those of us still navigating through this space though?

    Do You Really Want to Know How I’m Feeling?

    How am I feeling?

    That’s a loaded question. Because I’m not quite sure. I’m not angry. I’m not numb. I’m not happy either. I’m just… here. Existing in a kind of muted state, where everything still functions but nothing feels particularly real or urgent.

    I’m aware that I’m emotionally burnt out, physically spent, worn down, yet I have this extra energy to keep writing.

    There’s a strange kind of terror in not knowing what you feel. Like the compass inside is glitching — not spinning wildly, but just… stuck. Unmoving. It’s not sadness, exactly. It’s the awareness that I’m emotionally disconnected until something extreme, like anger, drags me back into myself.

    Right now, I’m sitting in my cluttered apartment. There are dishes in the sink, clean clothes waiting to be folded, a bed left undone. And instead of doing any of that, I’m typing this. Or I’ve been fiddling with my lock-picking set for a while. Something about misaligned priorities — or maybe just redirected energy — feels easier than confronting the basics of daily life.

    It’s not dramatic. It’s not catastrophic. But it is unsettling. And maybe that’s the most honest answer I can give right now.

    Letter from the Void

    If any of this resonates, I write more like this in my ongoing project, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.— it’s my newsletter with thoughts from the quiet spaces, where clarity sometimes hides. You’re welcome to sit with me there, too.

    If you’re not ready for that but still want to leave a trace, drop a one-word comment: how you’re feeling — or maybe just “here.”

    Or if this reminds you of someone in your life, maybe show them this. Sometimes feeling seen or recognizing bits of ourselves in something outside of us can make it seem we’re less alone.

    You could check out my other work if you’d like. No spam, no pressure, just an invitation to sit with something that you might be feeling and I might have been able to put it into words. Sitting at the edge of the void wondering if someone hears us whisper, and maybe someone did. One day at a time.

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here:

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Keep Writing — Your Freedom, Time, and Sanity Are on the Line

    Do You Ever Feel Like You’re Writing Into A Void?