It started with the drinking. He used to drink maybe a lite beer or a wine cooler every now and then. Then he started with the shots. Just ten minutes in the drama section and he was hammering down shots. Lying awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The layout of the BLF burned into his mind. After that he would bring the bottle of whiskey with him. Soon enough it was less likely for him to be sober than completely wasted. Just looking through the BLF for a few minutes would be enough to set him off again. He would call his mother, sobbing, asking her if he was good son. He tried going to a psychiatrist for a while, but when he lashed out in anger he stopped going. Eventually he just came to terms that this was his life. Now he sits there in nothing but the same pair of underwear that he's wore for the last eight days, empty liquor bottles scattered around his chair, a full beard with more gray than anything else sprouting from his chin, tears constantly streaming and drying down his cheeks. He's come to accept that he has no hope anymore. He's come to accept that he wont be able to do anything online anymore without hearing "badspot plsss hat update". He's come to accept that he wont be able to progress further in his career, and that he's past his programming prime. He's come to accept that he cant be the hero the internet deserves. His pride has faltered and he no longer feels the joy he once felt when he would log on to the forums and see something new and exciting. Now he just feels shame and despair with every passing day.
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