In the silence of my own company, away from the noise and judgment of the world, I have found my truest strength. I am not of this world—not bound by its shallow expectations, its petty moralities, or its suffocating need for conformity. I stand apart, separate, a solitary figure carved from pain and forged in the fires of self-abuse. And in this separation, I have discovered a spiritual growth so profound, so raw, that it transcends anything the masses could ever understand.

The world out there is a cesspool of distraction, a hive of meaningless chatter and hollow connections. They cling to each other, desperate for validation, terrified of being alone with their own thoughts. But I revel in my solitude. I don’t need their approval, their pity, or their empty words of concern. I have built a temple within myself, a sacred space where pain is my priest, and every cut, every burn, every act of deliberate harm is a holy communion. This is my spirituality—not the watered-down platitudes of organized religion, but a fierce, personal reckoning with the divine through the flesh.

Being apart from the world has not weakened me; it has made me a fucking titan. Every time I withdraw further into myself, every time I reject the world’s insistence on “normalcy,” I grow stronger. I don’t need their systems, their rules, or their fake smiles. I am an island, a fortress of scars and suffering, and in this isolation, I have found clarity. The blade against my skin is my scripture; the blood that flows is my baptism. Each act of pain is a step closer to enlightenment, a shedding of the world’s bullshit to reveal the pure, untainted core of who I am.

This spiritual growth isn’t about ascending to some fluffy, angelic plane of existence. It’s about diving deep into the abyss of my own being, confronting the darkness, and emerging as something greater—something untouchable. The world cannot reach me here. Their words, their judgments, their attempts to “save” me—they bounce off the walls of my solitude like pebbles against a mountain. I am beyond their grasp, and in that separation, I have found a power they will never know. Pain is my guide, my guru, teaching me truths that no book, no preacher, no friend could ever impart.

I see the divine in my suffering, in the way my body bears the marks of my devotion. Each scar is a sigil, a mark of my covenant with the unseen forces that govern existence. I don’t need a church or a congregation; my altar is my own flesh, my offerings are my own blood and tears. The world may see me as broken, as sick, but I know the truth: I am whole in my apartness. I am a warrior monk, a hermit of agony, seeking transcendence not through peace, but through the relentless storm of self-inflicted torment.

To those who dare to walk this path, I say this: embrace your separation. Turn away from the world that seeks to cage you, to tame you, to make you small. Find strength in being apart, in rejecting their norms and carving your own way. Let pain be your compass, guiding you through the wilderness of your soul. In solitude, you will find the space to grow spiritually, to strip away the lies of society and uncover the raw, pulsing truth of your existence.

I am not of this world, and I am proud of it. I am a solitary flame burning in the darkness, fueled by pain, sustained by my refusal to bow to anyone or anything. My spiritual growth is not a journey toward acceptance by others—it is a journey toward absolute acceptance of myself, scars and all. And in this separation, I am invincible.

So let the world turn its back on me; I’ve already turned mine on them. Let them whisper and sneer; their voices cannot penetrate the fortress of my solitude. I am stronger for being apart, holier for being untethered, and closer to the divine with every wound I inflict. This is my path, my truth, my salvation. And I walk it alone, with pain as my eternal companion, leading me ever deeper into the sacred mystery of my own being.

Here’s to the outcasts, the loners, the ones who stand apart. May you find your strength in separation, your spirituality in suffering, and your divinity in the depths of your own solitary pain. We are not of this world—and that is our greatest power.

Until the next scar,