The pain of truth, the burden of it, it is something we all carry with us but rarely do we try to heal ourselves of the wounds it causes. I myself even advocate for using it as a fuel to burn to propel ourselves to a greater future, to light the fires within ourselves. But I rarely speak of how this affects us beyond this use. How this knowledge affects all of us in a deeper manner than we realise. Allow me to offer a story regarding this. I've briefly mentioned how I became "red pilled" (urgh, such a derisory term nowadays thanks to it's use by the redundant groypers and pathetic alt lite) but the truth was it was a little after that, it was more when I learned of the true sins done by my nation in pursuit of semetic goals. Discovery of just all we had done was akin to pouring salt into an already open wound, it reopened something I thought had healed over and tore at my spirit. While I was fully aware Britain was by no means perfect in my mind I had always had the illusion that there were at least some elements of our system that mayhaps could be considered noble, salvageable. But as I understood more and more I came to the conclusion it was merely a fantasy on my part. Men I had considered heroes were traitors and those I had considered fringe were Men who believed in our people. In an ironic twist what most modern "culture critics" consider radicalisation was closer to a return to normalcy, a complete departure from the actual radical and diseased semetic ideas of this epoch and an embrace of the true European ideal. Of solidarity between brothers, of unity in purpose, of exploration beyond the mundane of semetic materialism. This return however came at a cost. I found myself and on occasion do still find myself unable to fully communicate with general people. Oh, of course I can pass the time, share some pithy anecdote and play the part of "just a moderately intelligent chap who is a tad introverted" but in my heart I feel myself separated from them. They seem almost alien to me at times, discussing their little movies or discussing some trivial topic from prescribed media, all the usual humdrum of men most grey. I even found myself distant to my love for a spell due to this, introversion was in abundance as I withdrew from the world at large. Each time I considered the future, considered a path forward I would swing from nihilistic surrender to a blazing cold hatred, the fire in me dimming and growing to an inferno as my mind processed more and more of just how far we had fallen and just how vile and hateful the parasite truly is. It left me broken. Misery consumed me. I fell into darkness as so many of our ilk do.

But a phrase stuck with me even through those miserable moments, a single phrase. "No one is coming to save us, we must save ourselves". The knowledge of all that has happened and all the machinations the parasite has ongoing, it crushes, it seems so overwhelming that to consider resisting seems pointless. That was until I realised as many others had before that to simply live was to resist. Of course, I could of ended my life, surrendered my being and my people at large, it would of been easy. The darker part of myself, the part corrupted by nihilism and semetic taught self loathing from media and culture made me think no one would care. No one would remember me, my death would be inconsequential. Perhaps so. Perhaps I am just one man like any other man who is but a single drop of rain. But the other part of me, the part that railed against a fate most foul, it dragged me up. It reminded me that our people are not as insignificant as the parasite had us believe, quite the opposite. Yes I had grown distant to them, loathsome of some. I saw in them a corruption and surrender to a false reality but then I realised what I had gone through to escape it and found my anger at them turn to sadness. Sadness that all that they could be is being stripped away, all that should be theirs given away freely to the undeserving by crook nosed thieves and the foul puppets who serve them.