Update: for those asking about a GoFundMe, my friend did so here.
I’ve never sent out a video of myself monologuing like this to my Substack subscribers before, but it’s easier and quicker than writing an essay.
Yes, 90 minutes, uncut, is much quicker than writing an essay. Everyone who tells me I “don’t edit” has no clue what they’re talking about.
I said some things in this video that I regret, in the sense that I come off, at times, as quite harsh or pessimistic. Those are genuine feelings, but they are ones I would like to overcome. I try to correct myself before the end of the video.
For those who cannot be bothered to watch a 90 minute video:
I am not going to die.
My doctor says I have a 90% chance of having a malignant tumor in my left testicle. Which is, of course, very funny, and I expect all my haters to take extreme pleasure in this fact. A poetic end to my gay degenerate life, etc etc.
The truth is that most people who are diagnosed with testicular cancer survive. Like 95% of people. In fact, the lowest rate of survival I found was like 70%. I’m very likely to NOT die.
However, there’s a 50% shot it has spread beyond the testicle, so I will probably have to do chemotherapy. Which sucks, and may cause me lifelong problems, such as Reynaud’s Syndrome, tinnitus, hearing loss, nerve damage, etc.
I expect that, for the next 12 months, I am going to lose my hair, throw up a lot, and generally be sickly and weak. You might not see a lot of energy, vitalism, or fresh takes from me. I’ll be somewhat zombified and depressed.
I would like to do a roadtrip.
The surgery to remove my left testicle will probably be scheduled in the next 30 days. In the meantime, I would like to do a roadtrip.
If you live in another country, and you would like me to buy a plane ticket to come see you, buy a Founding Subscription. Otherwise, if you live in America, buy a paid subscription.
When I did my roadtrip on the east coast, I met 30 people between South Carolina and Boston. I’m opening myself up to anywhere in the country. California, Texas, anywhere.
The only problem is that if you wait to reach out to me, I will be in a hospital bed in the next 30 days, so you will miss your chance, and have to wait and see how quickly I can recover from chemo. We don’t know what stage I have yet.
No sympathy, just action.
The natural, normal human and polite thing to do is to say:
I’m sorry
That sucks
That’s terrible
Remember this good time?
Thanks for writing articles
You’re a good person
You changed my life
You helped me so much
I like you
etc etc
Basically, when bad things happen, people tend to “eulogize” the person who is experiencing the bad thing. I do not want to be eulogized. I’m still alive.
However, I am not a natural, normal, or polite person. Therefore, if you could do me one favor, don’t give me any sympathy. What I demand of people is action.
Do something. I always target my writing toward young people, because I worship youth. Plan something. Take a risk. Meet someone. Get out. Go. Don’t wait.
If I knew my doctor was going to tell me I have a 90% chance of a malignant tumor yesterday, I would have done a lot of things differently with my life. Maybe I’d be married with kids. Maybe I would have been less afraid. I can tell you with certainly that I would have arranged my priorities differently.
Please, if you care about me at all, or have any positive feelings toward me whatsoever, act. Act now. Do not wait.
I do have an editor’s group, which has turned into something like an accountability group over the last 4 weeks. I will keep this going as long as I am able. If you want to join, sign up.
There’s always that 10%!
The best case scenario is they remove my testicle, and say, “oh damn, looks like you were that 10% of people who had what looked like a malignant tumor, but actually, it was benign.” In that case, I apologize for causing anyone to worry for me. I’m simply passing on to you what the doctor has told me.
Life is short. I am not proud of everything I have done. But if I look back on things, I actually wish I had made more mistakes, been more rash, more radical, and more uncompromising. Yes, I probably would have upset people, caused damage, and hurt feelings. But although change is painful, it is also necessary. That, to me, is what being a leftist is all about: embracing creative destruction, over the false comfort of conservatism.
Let’s not be melodramatic: I am not going to die; however, WE ALL DIE. We are human. Although I won’t say something trite like “we all have a purpose,” I believe that everyone who reads me with sincerity does have a purpose. Whether any of us can fully achieve that, or whether it is even possible to achieve our true purpose (Godhood), is unknown. But what I do know is that we have a duty to strive and to try.
I am not an empathetic person, unfortunately. Genetically, and due to family environment, I don’t have the ability to be personally sentimental. When my dad died, I did not cry. But for some reason, call me autistic, but I have extreme abstract sentimentality. The concept of a hero, of the heroic ideal, this is something that can cause me to cry easily. Even in the Minecraft Movie. I am low in empathy, high in sensitivity.
Whether this is good or bad is up for you to judge. I don’t need my audience to agree with me, I simply want to be understood.
Because I am not empathetic, I come off as harsh, judgmental, cruel, and rude. This is a flaw of mine, and I don’t entirely understand it. It also means that I am deeply uncomfortable receiving “letters of consolation” from strangers. I am especially uncomfortable receiving “text-based sympathy.” I can’t explain exactly why, but that is how I am.
If you want to speak to me, sign up and we can do a phonecall or video chat. I can be more empathetic under those circumstances. The text-based stuff frightens me, maybe because I’ve had internet stalkers over the years who went from loving me to hating me.
I’m doing a bad job of explaining myself, but basically, when I receive messages that are obsequious or overzealous or “parasocial,” when people tell me they “love me” or the equivalent, the way my brain interprets this information is as follows:
You do not know me. You have never attempted to get to know me. Your love for me is fake; false; and therefore, deceptive, and therefore, threatening.
You can get to know me, if you’d like. I enjoy video chatting and talking to people on the phone. I know it’s scary to break the parasocial barrier, especially with an intimidating person like me, but I hope some of you do reach out, recognizing the caveats I have laid out.
Ultimately, it is better to attempt to break that parasocial barrier and to fail, than to never try at all.
Maybe this explains things:
If I was ever overly emotional, volatile, neurotic (moreso than usual) or seemed hysterical or out-of-control and irrational over the last 4 months, the hormonal damage due to testicular atrophy might help explain it. It’s not necessarily an excuse (I haven’t had my t-levels checked yet), but it’s a possibility. If you felt that I’ve been acting like a bitch, and that turns out to be the reason why, forgive me.
