I believe in god the way I believe in people and I believe in people the way I believe in god
Core thesis: Evil is systemic before it is individual.
People—especially boys—are shaped by systems designed by powerful minorities.
Accountability matters, but permanent condemnation without intervention only reproduces harm.Redemption, responsibility, and resistance must be collective—or the cycle continues.
“I did bad things within a system that profits from producing bad behaviour—and I take responsibility for my part in it.”
I believe in God the way I believe in people.
And I believe in people the way I believe in God.
To believe in God and an afterlife while fully understanding the harsh reality we live in is a contradiction many of us quietly carry. We live under systems that reward cruelty, exploitation, and devilish behaviour—systems that directly oppose the values we associate with goodness, salvation, and faith. Yet we’re told to endure it all in exchange for the promise of peace after death.
Spiritual salvation, when framed this way, can feel like conceding to the failures of our reality—like accepting injustice now in hopes of a private paradise later, a place none of us can truly verify. Pro-life morals sound noble, but what kind of life are we leaving behind? If a child is born into wealth, they’re likely protected and given opportunity. If not, they inherit struggle—often worse than what came before. And with the way things are going, that child becomes the perfect victim of the very elites we’re told to admire, the ones at the top of a pyramid we’re encouraged to climb.
I’m not climbing anymore.
Not because I’m lazy.
Not because I don’t care about my family.
But because I’m not lazy—and because I do care about my family.
Our worth is bigger than how much labor we provide to make immoral people richer. This isn’t just about my family. It’s about yours. Working people have been divided for too long, keeping the cogs of a failed system turning. I stand for love over hate and life over death. None of us are perfect—human imperfection is unavoidable—but our intentions matter. When we hold each other accountable and forgive others as we learn to forgive ourselves, that’s where purity of heart lives.
I’m sharing something deeply personal—not to justify it, minimise it, or ask for forgiveness, but to take responsibility without pretending I’m uniquely monstrous.
I struggled with a porn addiction for years. I exchanged explicit images online frequently. I feel real shame about that. These behaviours mattered. They shaped how I saw myself and others, and they weren’t harmless.
I’ve never physically harmed a woman or exploited anyone underage—but I won’t hide behind that as moral credit. I participated in patterns that exist because they are engineered to be normal, addictive, and escalating. Acknowledging that doesn’t remove my agency—it restores it.
I’m speaking openly because silence protects systems, not people. If we only recognise evil when it wears the face of a monster, we ignore how often it passes quietly through ordinary lives—including our own.
With everything coming out about Epstein, it’s becoming clearer how systems of blackmail and abuse trickle down—from the most powerful to the least—until they reach ordinary people. If we imagine the “Antichrist” not as a red-horned demon but as a small collective of elites obsessed with power at the expense of the vulnerable, the metaphor suddenly makes sense. A system that rewards dominance concentrates reality-shaping power into the hands of a few.
Social media accelerates this. Young minds are exposed too early, and we become divided, reactive, and easily influenced—sheep guided toward whatever narrative we’re told to follow. If these elites have no concern for day-to-day survival, no 9–5 draining their time, they can dedicate themselves fully to manipulation and control, slowly conditioning us to tolerate increasingly obvious wrongs.
I’m not spiritual for the sake of sounding enlightened, so let me say it plainly: if the minority that control wealth, influence, and media are the metaphorical “Antichrist,” then their reality is becoming ours. Not through force, but through normalisation. We may even be subconsciously copying their habits, unaware they’re harmful, because we’ve been trained to see them as normal.
The evidence is in what’s being revealed. Horrific information is made public, and we tolerate it. That suggests two things:
They believe they can expose their crimes and we’ll do nothing, because we’re too busy surviving.
By continuing as normal despite knowing, we risk becoming complicit—slaves to the same evil we claim to oppose.
I reject that completely. I’m not religious in the traditional sense, but I believe in the power of belief, of God, and of people. Religion can be a force for unity—or a weapon of division—especially when devotion to a higher power is used to justify harm toward others who believe differently. True holiness cannot come at the expense of another’s humanity.
If they are the metaphorical Antichrist, then we must be the Christ. Not an individual savior, but a collective one. If their devil is a powerful minority, then our God must be a united majority. Power shouldn’t shift only for us to repeat the same abuses. We must recognise what makes us “good” and refuse to mirror their behaviour when power changes hands.
They exploit, starve, abuse, kidnap, and kill for profit. We must name these acts as wrong—and ensure we never reproduce them ourselves. The task feels impossible now. The flame hasn’t even been lit. But when it is, carry it. Carry it with imperfect hands and pure intention. We are all capable of harm—but obsessed with good when we choose to be.
We shouldn’t live forever as frightened victims. We should recognise ourselves as victims together and stand up for one another. See yourself in others. Reclaim the humanity that greed, power, and wealth have stripped away. Let us become everything they are not.
Then, whether we succeed or fail, we’ll know we didn’t bow.
Resist.
See yourself.
Edited add-on from a TikTok comment I agreed with:
If you step back and think about it, there’s no realistic reason massive amounts of sensitive material would suddenly be released just because a few thousand people demanded transparency. It feels more like a test—measuring what we’re willing to tolerate now that we’re aware of these evils. Will we resist, or submit, even subconsciously?
It makes more sense that this is a distraction from something far bigger—something that threatens the existing order entirely. Some theories suggest Earth isn’t what we’ve been told; that it functions less like a home and more like a controlled environment. A system. A farm. A prison we barely understand.
The illusion is cracking. Political, cultural, even scientific narratives increasingly feel artificial—designed to keep us busy, divided, and focused everywhere except the truth. The real mistake of those in power was allowing the internet to exist. They assumed censorship and narrative control would be enough. Instead, global connection made contradictions impossible to hide.
What remains untouched are the theories that would collapse everything if confirmed. Not just rewrite history—but destroy the foundation the system stands on.
