I was away. Still am. And will continue to be. I am the abusive boyfriend of Steemit. You know that guy... He beats the shit out of you, regrets it, fucks you, cuddles you and then does it all over again. And you think that the "real" he is the good part between the beatings. Well, no. "He won't stop doing that honey", said in an aunt-suzy voice. Here's the thing. I come in, I give you hopes and dreams and then I take it all away. Steemit is my bitch. ![pexels-photo-1254690.jpeg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmSV6iR5ypsk6m4oUZBg3SBTUVknGQtPh1Rp119nJApzQh/pexels-photo-1254690.jpeg)

It wasn't meant to happen

The Steemit crowd ain't my crowd. Take it for what it is, but deep down in my soul, I knew I don't fit the moment I published my first post. But I kept writing (and I will continue to do so) in order to make Steemit fit me. Not in a grand way, rather in a subtle, yet forceful manner. My perceived self-efficacy is over the top to the point I don't feel in any way obliged to continue putting in effort in order to achieve the sensation of writing on Steemit. (Did you get that? I mean I write here and yet I feel I do write. It makes sense, no?) That puts me in a quite interesting spot. I don't care at all, yet I enjoy it. At the same time, I don't get any reward from writing here, other than the dopamine hit I'd get If I wrote this shit off-line. So, it doesn't make sense for me to continue writing here. But I keep doing it, BECAUSE it doesn't make sense, even though the vast majority of my posts never get to see the light that is the Trending page. Back to the point of me not liking you... What do I mean by that? I don't like your mojo, your vibe. I don't know what it is, but the place reeks of forced content, forced pleasantries, and in-a-vacuum relationships. Ah, forget it. I am just moody. Go on.