This is the era of social media, where everyone’s a god or a king. The virtual happiness exhibit is open to all — free of charge and perfect for feeding the ego. I’m so happy! My life is amazing! I’m successful — look, I’ve got a fancy car, jewelry, and tons of friends! Everyone loves me! I’m respected. I’m valuable. I’m a good person.
Please.
Just look how amazing I am. I’ve got more likes than that girl from high school. And I’m thinner — thanks to some good FaceTune. My teeth? App-whitened. My family? See this photo — everyone’s smiling, and most importantly, they *love* me. Because I meet their expectations. I’m a good one.
Please.
I go on vacation every quarter. Look at me — I travel. I’ve got money. Look what I just bought! I dine out. I spend. I’m a successful person. People respect me. Some even envy me. Haters just can’t handle my happiness. I almost feel sorry for them. Almost.
Please.
Other people don’t live as beautifully — their photos are dull, they rarely post flowers, their kids aren’t that cute, and they haven’t posted a pic with their partner in months. Clearly, something’s wrong. But us? We always take selfies together — because we’re in love. That girl married a sugar daddy because she got pregnant, this one’s an oil heiress, and that guy? Full-time freeloader with zero talent.
Oh please!
Don’t scroll. Just keep watching. I need you to see how great my life is. You see it, right? You’re still watching? I didn’t spend half an hour finding the right angle and another hour debating the caption for nothing. And remember — I worked *so hard* for this life. I built it on my own. I *deserve* it.
Please.
Look how I woke up — no makeup, still flawless. Here’s my coffee. My balcony. That soft morning light. Totally not staged. It’s just me. If you’re jealous, that’s on you. I can’t help it that even my mornings are photogenic. I’m lucky. I’m glowing. Because I’m *me.*
Oh please.
Here I am running in the park. Not because I have to — because I *love* nature. I’m all about wellness, balance, mindfulness. You probably got wasted again last night. What you need is my discipline. My energy. My body. I’m proud of myself. I take care of myself. This — this is self-love. Take notes.
Please.
I’m out of energy today, but even my burnout looks aesthetic. Here’s the photo: blanket, candle, book, face mask. Caption? *”Feeling low, but still pushing through.”* Send me heart emojis in the comments. Cheer me up. I give you *so much.* Show me I matter. That I’m needed. That you feel me.
Please.
I’m not worse than anyone else. In fact, sometimes I think — maybe I’m better. But I just need to hear it. I wish someone would say: *”You’re the realest.”* Just like that. No filter. No Photoshop. No agenda. So I could finally believe it. So I could finally exhale.
Please.
I don’t go to the gym. I don’t torture myself with diets. I eat bread, pasta, chips — late at night. But I’m still slim. This body? Just genetics. Lucky me. It’s just me being me. You ask how I do it? I don’t know. I just live — and you watch. Maybe heaven’s paying me in visibility. Maybe you just want to be in my place.
But inside, there’s this constant ache. Sometimes, I just want to disappear. No likes. No stares. Nothing.
Please.
I exist. And you felt it.
Because I am the light. I’m the reflection of your desires.
Your meaning. Your screen-perfect ideal.
Please… just say I’m real. That I exist.
Simply exist.