You will never be a Marxist. You have no theory, you have no revolutionaries. You are a revisionist man twisted by liberalism and opportunism into a crude mockery of Marx's perfection.

All the "validation" you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your "comrades" laugh at your ghoulish theory behind closed doors.

Revolutionaries are utterly repulsed by you. Hundreds of years of theory have allowed revolutionaries to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even socdems who "pass" look uncanny and unmarxist to a revolutionary. Your kautskyite opportunism is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a revolutionary in your party, he'll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected liberalism.

You will never be a communist. You wrench out a fake smile every morning and tell yourself it's going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the parliamentarism creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under unbearable weight.

Eventually it'll be too much to bear - you'll but a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your comrades will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They'll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a revisionist is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably revisionist.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.