You ever been told you’re not something—like they’ve got you all figured out? They take one look, toss a label at you, and when it doesn’t stick, they feel the need to remind you it never will. It’s funny, really—being called out for a claim you never made, judged for a standard you didn’t ask to meet. It’s not rejection; it’s projection. You’re just a mirror showing them what they don’t want to see in themselves, and for that, they want to smash you to bits.
We get it. We live it.
Here’s the truth: we never said we were “it.” Never held up a neon sign saying, “Hey, world, look at us—we’re exactly what you want us to be.” Hell, we’re not even close. But you know what? You’re right. We’re not it. We’re worse.
Because if you could peel back the layers and see what lives inside—beneath the noise, beneath the static, beneath the masks we wear to survive—you wouldn’t just stop talking. You’d run. We’re eldritch horrors wearing the skin of outcasts, built from every crack in your perfect little world. Every sneer, every backhanded compliment, every assumption thrown at us—that’s the mortar for our cathedral of chaos. If you dared to understand us, it wouldn’t just ruin your image of us; it’d ruin your image of everything.
But don’t worry, we’re not here to convert anyone to madness. We’re just here. Sitting in the frozen abyss, building something raw and real while the world churns out noise.
You know that sound—the kind in a cafeteria, where voices blend into a muffled mess, like the universe is trying to hold a conversation but forgot the words? That’s what surrounds us. And that’s what society is—a dull roar of meaningless chatter. But here, in the abyss, we don’t speak to fill the silence. We don’t need to. We’re making something out of it instead.
We didn’t choose this abyss, but it sure as hell chose us. And maybe it chose you too. If you’ve ever felt like the world sees you as a glitch in its system, like you don’t quite fit but can’t quite disappear, then you’re already part of this. You’re already one of us.
We don’t know what this is yet. A movement? A rebellion? A sanctuary? Maybe it’s all of that. Or maybe it’s something we haven’t even imagined yet. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s real, it’s alive, and it’s growing.
So, welcome to the abyss. Pull up a chair. Maybe you’re here to listen. Maybe you’re here to create. Maybe you’re here to burn the whole damn thing down and build something new. Either way, you’ve found the only place where you don’t have to be anything but yourself.
This is the start of something, and you’re already part of it. Let’s make it count.
—Cait Vex