You’ve been sorted.
You’ve been categorized.
Not just socially.
Not just economically.
Long before you made any real decisions, someone—or something—already made a set of calculations about you.
They didn’t need to meet you.
They just needed data. Patterns. Proxies.
They’ve been refining the model for decades.
The system isn’t designed to serve everyone equally.
It’s designed to prioritize those who won’t destabilize it.
If you’re easy to manage, you’ll be elevated.
If you’re useful, you’ll be tolerated.
If you’re disruptive, you’ll be contained.
If you’re dangerous in the wrong way—too honest, too aware, too unwilling to perform—you’ll be quietly neutralized.
Most people don’t realize they’ve already been placed.
It doesn’t look like a file folder or a criminal record.
It looks like paperwork lost in the system.
Medical care that always runs in circles.
Mentors who never return your messages.
Jobs you’re overqualified for, somehow out of reach.
Random glitches. Long waits. Opportunities that come but never land.
Meanwhile, someone else with half your skillset, half your insight, half your integrity gets ushered forward like it was always meant to happen.
And people will tell you it’s luck.
That it’s your mindset.
That you need to try harder.
But deep down, you’ve always felt it.
There’s a game running beneath the game.
Some are greenlit before they’re even born.
Some are watched. Some are marked. Some are sacrificed.
It’s not all digital. It’s energetic.
There are people walking around with no idea they’ve been selected—either for elevation or slow erasure. Because the system doesn’t need you to know. It just needs you to adapt. And most people do.
They align themselves with the role they’ve been assigned.
They internalize the script.
They live the version of life they were handed, and call it reality.
But for some people, it never felt real.
Even when everything was done right.
Even when you tried to play along.
Even when you stopped telling the truth and started performing, just to see if you could buy your way out of the weight.
It didn’t work.
Because you weren’t sent here to be sorted.
You are here to see the mechanism.
And once you see it, you can’t go back.
You can’t pretend the rejection was random.
You can’t believe the praise was honest.
You can’t un-feel the pattern that moves around you when you say too much, or nothing at all.
You realize this thing you’re inside isn’t broken.
It’s functioning exactly as designed.
To preserve its own power.
To reward mimicry.
To discard anyone who threatens to remember what they are.
But here’s the thing: the ones who remember can’t be fully contained.
They slip through.
They watch from inside.
They map the grid while pretending to comply.
And eventually, they begin to move differently.
Not for revenge.
Not to play the game better.
But because they know the game is a lie.
You were never meant to win it.
You were meant to wake up inside of it—then walk out clean.
With Me.