Forum veteran quits after 45,000 posts amid rowing crisis

The Rowing Crisis: A Veteran's Digital Suicide at 45,000 Posts

What happens to someone who has been sharing their life on a forum since 2015 and decides to kill off their persona upon reaching 45,000 posts? The protagonist claims that "rowing corrodes everything it touches" and sees deleting his digital identity as the only way out. In the Guardería, the most intimate subforum, this confession mixes with dark humor from those who have been there before: "You're made of iron; even God couldn't kill you," one veteran retorts.

The story begins with an emotional collapse: a 13-year relationship ends during the first serious argument, trinc by a WhatsApp block and the temptation to show up at his ex-partner's house. "If I snap, I'll go to her place," he writes. The conversation shifts to physical and mental wear: heart pains after taking 50 mg of aripiprazole, the feeling that rowing is "the only thing saving you from a perversos life," and the certainty that the public character he built no longer represents him.

From WhatsApp Block to Grieving the Persona

The initial shock is emotional, but the core issue is existential. He describes a breakup that exploded "after 13 years" without prior arguments, mixing rage and self-pity met with skepticism. "I can't get an erection, I don't care about women," he states, clarifying he gets stimulants in Madrid and has moved on. The group's irony appears quickly: "Then buy Cialis in Andorra," one replies.

But the central matter isn't the ex, but the decision to quit. "I've been here since 2015... it's time to kill Atasco and turn the page," he announces. It's not a technical exit but a scheduled digital suicide. The counter will stop at 45,000 posts, and the character will vanish, though the man may write elsewhere. "We'll keep talking on my main account if you drop by, but my counter won't go past 45,000 messages."

Rowing as a Metaphor for an Exhausted Life

Rowing, serving as both refuge and condemnation in the forum, threads through every intervention. "Hard rowing is the only thing saving you from a perversos life," he asserts, while another says "rowing corrodes everything it touches" and notes that since he isn't foolish, he'll quit soon. The contradiction is perfect: what sustains him is destroying him.

The talk turns to physical deterioration. One veteran recalls thinking he had a heart attack when it was just gas, and the protagonist shares his own history: "Recently, after taking 50 mg of aripiprazole, I felt a sharp pain in my heart while sleeping." The question lingers: how many milligrams of pills has he accumulated? "Over 5,000 mg in these years for sure," he calculates. The group agrees unanimously: "You're made of iron; even God couldn't kill you."

Life Outside the Forum: Alcohol, Missions, and Minimalism

While the protagonist sinks, the rest of the Guardería carries on. One user recounts a binge of "12 or 13 gin tonics," claiming the tonic water gets him high, not the gin. Another describes his situation as a "third-world prison," joking that photos would make people think he's on a mission "looking for tight shorts." The chat jumps from minimalist decor to Freemasonry, with a "you're definitely a Guason, 3" sparking laughter.

The contrast is stark: one person's personal drama becomes background noise for general banter. "I hadn't laughed today and thought I'd wasted the day," someone writes. That’s how the Guardería works: one day discussing fake heart attacks, the next apartment decor. Life goes on, even when someone decides to kill their persona.

The Goodbye That Isn’t a Goodbye

The farewell feels theatrical. "Atasco is truly an idiot," the protagonist admits, corrected by another: "He's scared or disoriented, but not an idiot." The thread ends with "what a mess, I’ve given up cinnamon rolls too" and "doing okayish without thinking about suicide too often." The curtain falls with the promise that the counter stops, but forum life continues elsewhere.

Ultimately, does killing the persona help? "You need to turn the page and move forward," they tell him. He responds: "I'm more deranged than usual." Ironically, the forum that watched him grow for nearly a decade will also host his digital funeral. And as in any funeral, someone will end up telling a joke.