My sweet, beloved little healing plantains, I’ve gotten sick again — the rain soaked me and the wind chilled me in Oslo. Now I’m at home, tidying up and playing WoW. I keep thinking it’s time to start preparing for the new school year, but I’m terribly lazy. Still, I’ve got some food for thought.

You know, when God was creating humans, he clearly messed something up with men. Nobody likes men. They commit the vast majority of crimes, ruin life for decent men without toxic habits, for women, children, and animals. A standard man looks like — well, if he were a woman, she’d be seen as homeless and mentally ill. They behave with staggering tactlessness, presenting their mediocre philosophical ramblings as profound insights, while women — who had this exact same conversation at a sleepover when they were 13 — stand there open-mouthed, not knowing how to respond. Too emotional and unable to control themselves — they commit crimes because they were “provoked” or “pushed too far.” They project their own flaws onto women, creating stereotypes, while attributing good masculinity to traditionally feminine traits: patience, compassion, self-control.

I’ve had more than enough of this crap in my life — thanks to the men closest to me, to the ones who cat//\\call me in the street or lie around dr//un\\k in alleys and outside small shops, to the ones who write to me on Facebook, and to the endless news and statistics available in the media.

What, you thought I came here just to bash men? Gotcha! Today, a heavy stone is flying straight into the women’s garden — and specifically into Nastya’s.

Nastya is my pen pal from Barnaul, and we’ve been close since 2017. She used to fill me with awe — I met her as a fan, actually. She wrote the most liked It fanfic with Pennywise as a love interest, and I was blown away by how well thought-out it was and how sharp the character portrayals were. The clown remained a predatory cosmic creature until the very end — no “he changed” nonsense or anything like that. I drew fan art based on that fic and sent it to her, and we’ve been friends ever since.

She has an incredibly lively and agile mind, capable of rational and deep analysis. Even though she and I are eerily similar in terms of needs and values, our views often seem like polar opposites — within the exact same frame of reference. For example, I see Gaunter O’Dimm (a kind of Mephistopheles-like character) as a positive figure, while she sees him as a villain. It’s always fascinating to debate with her because she’s able to do it with a clear head — never resorting to personal bias or mundane nitpicking, and never mistaking opinion for fact.

Nastya is the same age as me. My journey with universities started off rough and unsuccessful (and still is, honestly) — I’ve been studying for many years. Life has absolutely steamrolled me during this time, and I’ve gained experience in all kinds of areas, some by choice, some not.

But Nastya… Nastya hasn’t done anything. At all. All these years she’s just stayed home and played video games. And that’s despite all the endless opportunities Russia offers — especially in the capital of Altai Krai.

At first, I was fine with it. But over time, I started feeling this irrational frustration growing inside me. Like — how is it fair that I’m breaking my back studying and working, and she’s just sitting there doing nothing?

Then that anger turned into a kind of vague confusion, and eventually into dusty, dry disappointment. Time moves forward, but Nastya stays the same as she was back then — she has no new experiences, no new people in her life, no challenges.

In our recent discussions, I began to realize that I can’t relate to her as an equal anymore, because in many areas of life she remains deeply immature.

But one thing stayed the same.

We trashed men. Oh, how we shredded you, you poor creatures. In every way possible — jokingly, seriously, with contempt, with hatred. Thankfully, men never fail to provide content.

We talked endlessly about what traits we liked or disliked in a potential partner, what we considered mediocre and what we found unique — all within both realistic and imaginative frameworks. We discussed it all, both emotionally and rationally. I drew on both theoretical and real-life experience.

I was convinced that Nastya, too, had a rich history of interactions with men — at least online — enough to speak meaningfully about interpersonal relationships.

Time keeps moving — we’re both almost 27 now. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and then, about three weeks ago, out of the blue, Nastya writes in our group chat (with another friend included) that her opinion of men has changed. That there are good ones. That she’s met someone absolutely incredible, just wonderful.

I reacted with cautious skepticism at first… but then even a little excitement — could it really be that Nastya had found a handsome, well-groomed, intelligent, educated, mature, kind, wealthy man with tons of hobbies and interests?

With bated breath, I asked for a photo.

And what did I get?

A blurry image of a balding, prematurely washed-up man — maybe 25 to 30 years old. Very unattractive.

Age and a working knowledge of psychiatry really give you an edge — you learn to read people’s faces. And this guy immediately gave off the vibe of someone petty, bitter, and stingy.

But fine — I bit my tongue. Maybe I was wrong.

I gave Nastya the green light to invite him into our group chat.

Vlad — that’s his name — burst in with an ugly stereotype for an opener, saying he was glad to find himself in a “nest of vipers.” Not exactly charming.

He acted tense, passive-aggressive. I tried to ask him about his hobbies — very gently — because it was already pretty clear he was a histrionic personality type who couldn’t tolerate even the lightest touch to his fragile ego. He made no effort to get to know me or our third friend, just answered questions and talked about himself.

And on top of that, he was regularly rude. The rudeness, interestingly, was always laced with those old-school gender stereotypes — women should this, men should that, and so on. He even bragged about how much money he made and how he was going to provide for Nastya (despite the fact that he’s in Spain and has no way to send her money).

Every time he said something off, Nastya would respond with an awkward laughing sticker. When I DM’d her to ask what was going on, she just said she had no idea why he was acting that way.

Then Vlad misused a very basic word in a totally incorrect context, and at that point, I finally made the mistake of openly expressing confusion. He immediately left the chat. His delicate ego was shattered — despite all the emotional airbags we’d deployed.

The whole situation left behind a weird, cringey aftertaste. I told Nastya that, to put it mildly, her ‘boyfriend’ was not great.

We didn’t fight about it — but I came to a clear conclusion: Nastya has absolutely no experience dealing with men.

And then, about a week ago, I found out that Nastya — someone who’s always been deeply self-conscious about her body — had started sending Vlad naked photos of herself with a butt plug in. For free.

You know, at first this whole thing made me angry and upset — but today, I just feel empty. This thought has been lingering on the edge of my mind like something almost logical, but not quite. Rationally, I understand that it’s a slap in the face to all our analysis, discussions, reflections — just an empty void where meaning used to be.

But I’ve been through something similar before, with my friend Dima from St. Petersburg — I wrote a post about him a long time ago. We were friends for years, talked endlessly about the value of friendship, of personality, of subtle, elevated human connection.

And then he ran headfirst into the first vagina that would have him — and blocked me everywhere the moment she found out we were in touch.

That time, it was just… laughable.

But with Nastya, it feels gross. And today, I think I finally understood why this hit me so deeply and personally.

My deep, dark hatred of men — specifically within the context of romantic relationships — comes from lived experience. The connections I had when I was 20–21 ended painfully, but only for me. I poured my soul and effort into them, and my partners responded with the finest examples of “classic” male behavior.

For years I drove the idea into myself that it was my fault. But looking back at my past self now, like a separate person, I can see clearly — I was used. Smoothly and cruelly.

All the love I had drained out of me — like a scorching distillation pulled from flesh — leaving only a thin broth in my veins, stealing the glow from my eyes, the tremble from my body. It took everything that made men feel like “wonders” and left behind only what I had once hidden with love.

Love cut its way out of me like a thief, tearing me apart and leaving me spread over the wreckage like the ashes of a burnt-out house.

And Nastya… Nastya just opened her soul — and her vagina — to the first random Vlad who could string more than three words together (even if he didn’t always understand what they meant).

And that’s what hit me so irrationally, so painfully: the principles I live by — my standards for men, my rules for love and relationships — were written in pain, carved out at the edge of blackout. While for Nastya, all that turned out to be nothing more than “entertainment content” — borrowed from some feminist meme pages.

A fun little insult marathon, ending the moment she tripped over the first half-clean dick in her path.

That’s how it goes, I guess.

I keep wanting to call out men and stand by women — but it doesn’t work like that.

They fully deserve each other.