I’ve been buying a lot of shit I don’t need online lately. I mean, I use the shit I buy. But do I need it? No. I can’t help but think that my obsession with identity has a connection to my over-consumption. I spent a lot time thinking about “being authentic”, then define myself through my interests, my purchases, the media I consume. Are those things “me”? No, obviously.

I guess I could define myself by what I make, but often those things are made, posted, in the hope that someone else consumes it. Validates it. How many projects are made for the sake of project itself with no intention of sharing it?

I should opt-out and become a monk.

The problem is I like defining myself through shit. The shit I make. And the shit I buy. My favourite t-shirts make me feel more like me. Not even a joke. Whatever that means. The idea that I can shed that and find some peace behind it seems unlikely.

That’s were self-help, spirituality, and personal growth hit the fan. Depression and mental illness. When the voices below the static are loud and unkind, removing the safeguards of self lets those voice run unmuffled and uncontested.

Where did these voices come from in the first place? I can’t blame online shopping and consumerism completely. I’ve always been a little mentally ill. Stressed and depressed. The feeling of not enough. Not cool enough. Bikes not good enough. Not enough followers. Not enough likes.

Those voices, though. I can point some fingers at where those voices came from.

Fuck advertising. It is built on the idea of what you are. What you have. What you’ve accomplished. Is not enough.

Anyways I’ve been shopping online a lot lately.

Happy Black Friday. I hope you got some nice shit.