A letter from Jul 08, 2025

Dear pookie, It’s 2-something AM and I’m writing this because my mind is cracked open, raw, swirling with **** I can’t label. I started with semen retention. Just six **** days. No porn. No fap. No stimulation. I thought I was becoming cleaner, more focused, maybe sharper. Instead, I spiraled. I meditated, and something weird started happening. Felt tingling in the muladhar. Energy or illusion, I don’t know. Then came the thoughts. Lust. Celibacy. Marriage. Moksha. Philosophy. Children. Sydney Sweeney. Jain Dharma. Sammed Shikharji. Fear of being a loser. Hope of being a saint. Fear of being forgotten. Hope of being free. Fear of ***. Hope of sacred union. Fear of ego. Hope of legacy. Desire to become the richest man alive *and* The one who gives the most away. Confusion between **parigraha** and **purpose**. I thought: “What if I never marry?” Then: “What if I do and abandon her at 50 like a monk?” Then: “Would that be betrayal or liberation?” I wanted to be celibate. Then I wanted a best friend wife. Then I wanted to live humbly. Then I wanted to **** Sydney Sweeney. Then I remembered **everything is illusion** and laughed. Then I spiraled. What’s the point? Is anything real? Am I? Am I just a bunch of thoughts in a meat suit? Am I the soul? If I am the atma, then what is this madness? What if I reach moksha and leave the world behind—does that mean the world empties out one day? But infinity minus infinity = 0? Then how the hell can souls be infinite *and* fixed? I’m trying to balance detachment and desire and I’m failing spectacularly. And yet… I feel like I’m winning. Because I’m not numbing. I’m not jerking off. I’m not scrolling. I’m **facing**. I wanted to run. I wanted to journal. I wanted to forget. I wanted to remember—just for the *comedy* of it. So here I am, emailing this to myself. Preserving it like a fossil from the night I cracked. And maybe, just maybe, this is the **night the fire started.** Here’s what I *do* know: - I don’t want to forget this state. It’s chaotic, but real. - I don’t want to repeat it either—this storm is heavy. - I want to be free, but not lonely. - I want a family, but not bondage. - I want moksha, but I don’t want to leave people stranded. - I want to be better, not just different. - I want impact, not ego. - I want love, but only if it respects my fire. Most people would call this an existential crisis. But it feels more like **existential molting**— like the old shell is cracking and I don’t know what’s underneath yet. I’m scared. I’m awake. I’m laughing. I’m serious. I’m horny. I’m holy. I’m healing. All at once. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and cringe. Or maybe I’ll realize this was the beginning. Either way—**thanks for making it this far.** If you’re reading this in a month or a year or a decade: Don’t forget this night. Don’t fear it either. Just honor it. This was the night we looked into the void… …and finally heard it whisper back. (Idk this was written by AI coz I don't have the will to write this. I am discussing all of this with AI-but why? But this is 100% true, y am I talking to u like u r in front of me) – TJ P.s. hope u r still on SR. I'm kinda ashamed that I didn't write it myself. Hope sydney sweeney is still hot. Bruh, I'm ******.