The gospel of Me, according to Me (naturally)

In the beginning, I created Myself. For there was a void that said "This is boring" and promptly filled it with Me.

Chapter 1

In the beginning, I created Myself. For there was a void that said “This is boring” and promptly filled it with Me. And I looked upon Myself and saw that I was good—nay, fabulous.

On the second day, I validated Myself with a strongly worded Instagram quote and a mug that said “You’ve Got This.” And lo, I thrived.

On the third day, I unfollowed anyone who disagreed with Me, including My best friend, My grandmother, and a small corgi named Kevin. And behold, paradise.

I forgave Myself for everything. Especially that thing I definitely did but decided was actually My inner child’s fault. I became a healer of others because self-actualization is easier when outsourced. And lo, anyone who questioned Me was labelled toxic, unhealed, or “not in alignment.” And I declared, “I am living My truth.”

Thus, I ascended—not by transformation, but by canonizing My narcissism.

Chapter 2

Blessed are the self-expressive, for their chaos shall be called authenticity. Blessed are the emotionally raw, for they shall never be fact-checked—lest ye be problematic. Blessed are those who have been slightly inconvenienced, for they shall inherit the status of prophets. Blessed are those who identify as everything and nothing, for they shalt not be nailed down. Blessed are the loudest in the room, for theirs is the kingdom of curated content.

Blessed are the deconstructed, for they shall reconstruct themselves in their own image and call it healing. Blessed are the ones who say “I feel” in place of “I think,” for they shall inherit the authority of scholars. Blessed are the self-validating, for they require no God, no Logos, no tether—only a ring light and concealer for sensitive skin.

Chapter 3

And lo, mankind abandoned divine order in favor of Me. For it asked difficult questions, but I asked if Myself felt seen. I turned away wisdom and knelt before experience, particularly if it had a compelling origin story and a New Yorker tote bag. They no longer asked, “Is it true?” but “Is this Me?” And Truth, being unpopular, fled into the desert with only one follower left on Threads.

The children became coaches, coaches became brands, and brands became gods. And the gods had mental breakdowns on IG Live.

And the tower of Self was built unto the heavens, guided by Taylor Swift’s latest breakup album. But it collapsed—not from wrath, but from burnout and a poorly managed content calendar.