Your Scumloser father doesn’t tell you you’ll never become an astronaut because he never tried. But when you fumble a spark plug, he laughs. Because *he* fumbled too. He sees his own hands in yours, stupid and shaking, and it disgusts him.

A Loser like OYT who never got laid tells you your phenotype is too Ruinous to get laid. Girls won’t like you, he says. He isn’t warning you imho. He’s confessing. A Woman won’t say that. Even when she’s furious, even when she hates you, she won’t say “you’ll never get laid, champ.” She doesn’t understand the male fear of sexual extinction. To her, men are always in demand somewhere, somehow. She doesn’t know what it means to be a man no one touches. This is the shape of projection: a man condemns what he recognizes. Jung called it the Shadow; the dark mirror of the self, exiled into others. He said, “Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” But most men don’t want understanding. They want revenge on the version of themselves that tried and failed.

A weak man who quit lifting tells you the gym is a scam. disco fries tells you dieting is impossible. A failed writer tells you the publishing world is rigged. A YouTuber with no audience tells you the algorithm is broken.

They rarely warn you about futures they know nothing of. They don’t tell you your Engineering startup will fail if they never wrote a line of code. They don’t tell you you’ll be a bad pilot, because they never stepped foot in a cockpit. They only vomit poison in the places they bled.

Even teachers do it. The English teacher who wrote a failed novel tells you not to be a writer. The music teacher who never made it past community theatre tells you to be realistic.

It’s never realism. It’s the wreckage of dreams, dragged to shore, and hurled at you like driftwood.

True hate lives next door to resemblance. The man who discourages you most looks like an older photo of yourself: bloated, defeated, talking about “the real world.” He doesn’t hate you. He hates the part of himself that still believed, and he sees it glowing in your eyes.

He wants to put that fire out.

So when someone says “you’ll never make it, champ,” don’t listen. Look at their hands. Look at their face. Look at the Ruin behind their eyes.

That sentence wasn’t about you. It never was.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5741347&forum_id=2#49038203)