I wake up at 4:30 AM, not because I want to, but because my shift starts at 6, and if I’m even a minute late, I get written up. Drag myself out of bed, choke down some stale cereal, and drive 45 minutes to a warehouse where I spend ten hours sweating, lifting boxes, and getting barked at by managers who probably hate their lives more than I do. I come home exhausted, eat some microwave garbage, scroll my phone in silence, and pass out so I can do it all over again.

For what? I’m still stuck living at home. I thought working hard would get me somewhere, but I’m 27, still sleeping in the same bed I had as a teenager, surrounded by the same posters from a life that never took off. Rent is impossible unless I want to split a filthy apartment with three other guys who smell like Hot Pockets and despair.

Meanwhile, Pan Piano is out here making millions by playing a keyboard in a sexy cosplay outfit. That’s it. She dresses up, plays a song, and simps throw money at her like it’s nothing. I break my back every day and can barely afford gas. No real skill, no real effort—just looking hot and pressing keys, and she’s set for life. Meanwhile, I get yelled at for stacking a pallet the “wrong” way.

Tried dating. My parents met at work, so I figured I’d ask a coworker out. Big mistake. Got written up by HR and now everyone in the warehouse makes fun of me. “Bro thought he was in a rom-com.” Meanwhile, some girl from high school is making $400K working from home in her pajamas, married to some finance dude, traveling the world, while I have to beg for a day off just to sit in a waiting room at the dentist.

I work harder than any of them. And for what? Just to keep existing? Hard work doesn’t pay off. It just keeps you alive enough to keep suffering.