The Price of Survival: What the Rich Will Never Understand…

Dear Readers,

There’s a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t go away with rest.

A kind of frustration that builds over years of trying, sacrificing, and pushing through a life that demands everything while offering very little in return.

I’m tired.

Tired of struggling.

Tired of selling this and that to cover the next bill.

Tired of pretending everything is fine when deep down, the weight of survival is crushing my spirit.

The people at the top, the rich, the privileged, the untouched, will never understand this. Not really. They post their gifts to each other- cars, watches, vacations- like it’s just another Tuesday. They flaunt wealth not to celebrate success but to show each other they’re winning a game the rest of us were never allowed to play.

And while they casually give each other Rolexes, we fight to buy second-hand phones.

We live on EMIs. We stretch our money like elastic bands, praying it doesn’t snap before the month ends.

We check our accounts before buying groceries.

We sell electronics, old clothes, even our memories, just to keep the lights on, just to make it one more day.

We apply for jobs, any jobs.

We take odd work, side work, hard work, and humiliating work, and still, we’re told we’re “overqualified.”

That we’re too experienced.

That we’re not a fit.

And when we do get work, we’re underpaid. Treated like we should be grateful just to exist.

Do you know what’s worse? When they don’t even see you as human.

I’ve seen it with my own eyes, filthy rich parents whispering to their children,

“Don’t talk to him. He’s poor.”

As if struggling to survive makes you contagious.

As if poverty is a disease rather than a system built to keep you down.

But miss a payment once, just once, and suddenly, you’re not just poor.

You’re irresponsible. You’re a delinquent. A problem.

The bank calls. The tone shifts. The threats start.

There is no compassion. Just numbers and cold policies.

And slowly, that pressure becomes unbearable.

Some people reach a point where they feel they have nothing left to give because they don’t.

They’ve sold everything.

Tried everything.

Begged, borrowed, hoped, and still… nothing.

And still, the calls keep coming.

The reminders. The shame.

The system tightens its grip.

And sometimes, people break.

Let’s stop sugarcoating it.

People die.

They die because this world pushed them too far.

They die not because of debt but because of despair.

Not because of failure but because they were made to believe they were worthless.

They die alone, quietly, with no headlines and no mourning, because the world values money over people.

But I remember.

I carry the names of those who couldn’t take it anymore.

The ones who were kind. Honest. Good. But crushed under a system designed to bleed them dry.

And yet, the world keeps moving.

We’re told to be grateful. Grateful just to survive.

Grateful for scraps. Grateful to work ourselves into the ground for basic dignity.

But this isn’t living. This is surviving a war no one talks about.

We are not lazy.

We are not failures.

We are tired.

Tired of watching wealth flaunted like it’s divine.

Tired of being treated like shameful burdens.

Tired of seeing everything we fought for slip through our fingers while being told to “just try harder.”

We’re the ones selling used devices, old dreams, and bits of our souls just to make it to another day.

We’ve done jobs no one wanted, worked hours no one sees, fought battles no one honors.

It’s dehumanizing.

It’s demoralizing.

And it’s sickening.

But we’re still here.

So if you’ve ever:

Sold something you loved to pay rent…

Skipped meals to buy medicine…

Cried over a rejection email for a job you were overqualified for…

Been judged for your poverty…

Broken down because the banks wouldn’t stop calling…

You are not alone.

This is the truth behind the grind.

The truth behind survival.

The truth behind the so-called “lazy poor.”

We are not lazy.

We are warriors in silence.

Let them keep flaunting their luxury.

Let them gift yachts, cars, and $100,000 watches.

Let them live in a bubble of privilege.

But we?

We’ll keep fighting with grit, with honesty, with a strength they’ll never understand.

And one day, we won’t have to sell pieces of our soul to exist.

One day, the stories of our struggle will become the stories of our power.

One day, we will no longer whisper in the shadows. We will rise, be seen, be heard, and never be silenced again.

I thank God for keeping me alive to see another day, every day…

JacobM