/lit/ - Literature

There is nothing of value on this board; it just hit me while I was looking through the catalog. Nothing of value. It's always the same pedantic, trivial, sardonic discussion (if you can even call it that–no actual discussion happens most of the time), data-mining threads ("What are you reading?"), or pointless drivel ("Post stacks/shelf"), day in, day out. All the threads that attempt actual discussion are derailed into political shitflinging or are drowned in unfunny memes. I spend the majority of my day here, refreshing the page and clicking and scrolling through threads that I'm only half-interested in, looking for something, anything. I have never been served a good recommendation or read something here that is interesting. This place has been a disaster for my mental health and well-being since I have spent the majority of my crucial, formative years here; it has made me narcissistic, elitist, anxious, and contributed greatly to my social-ineptness. Whenever I have tried to contribute something of value ("Be the change you want to see!") I either get ignored, or am flooded with memes as a response. Whenever I am having a good day, a visit to this place sours my mood; whenever I am having a bad day, this place deepens my sense of depression and anxiety; simply existing, simply being there when nothing else is–that is the only positive thing this place can be praised for.

Yet whenever I try to leave, I only manage to stay away for a day or two; I always get that thought of, "Maybe something worthwhile will happen today, maybe I'll see a good post, or be recommended something great, or will participate in some kind of meaningful discussion," so I come back and proceed to lose several hours refreshing the catalog and responding pointless to pointless posts. When I am isolated from this place, I realize that I have no actual hobbies that are in some way tied to this place; I want to write something? Part of the reason is because of this place; I want to read something/pursue something? Part of the reason is because of this place. This place has infected almost every part of my waking life; the only reason I got back into reading (something that has been good actually) is because I wanted a sense of superiority to others, and this place (specifically, this board), seemed actually intelligent; to an outsider, some of the things mentioned here seem cryptic and erudite; when you become an insider, that all goes away. Why can't I just leave? I can see the problems with staying here, but I just can't tear myself away. I have some kind of twisted Stockholm Syndrome.

Who is that one spanish fucker who gets spammed here so often?–Maestro or something? That one anon that keeps spamming his literary theory here

I wanted to write a story about a depressed guy who decides to write a story in an attempt to not be depressed- but he fails, and so did I.