I know that my wife is having an affair (irl I'm not married). When I'm out of the room, I can hear moaning but whenever I enter, she's laying in bed, fully clothed, reading a book of poetry and listening to jazz. She doesn't like jazz. Also, the bed is wet with seawater. I ask her about the seawater and she looks at me like I'm an idiot and suggests that I spilled my drink and then starts berating me because I'm not supposed to eat or drink in the bed, that's how we got bugs at the old house. I leave the room, close the door, the sounds of the affair start up again. I realize that the problem is going through the door. I climb up into the attic, carefully make my way across the wood beams, estimate where I think the bed is below me, and jump feet first through the pink drywall. It's like jumping through cotton candy. I land in the bed and a man is fucking my wife. He is French. They both scream and I lunge at him but he's just out of reach. I chase him across the room but he shrinks in size and jumps into a tiny aquarium. I watch him swim down to the little plastic castle inside and let himself in. He must have come with the fishtank. I ordered it on Amazon. I return it. My wife won't stop crying because I took him away from her and when I leave a one star review she starts crying harder for being unfair and the begins hitting me in the back of the head with her purse.
You are tired of people lying to you about the state of the world. The blame you, but the woes around you are not your fault. They impede your progress on seemingly intractable problems, but there is always a creative way around impassable barriers. The consumerism you use as balm to soothe your problems has a hidden cost, and in the end, it will not help you. But the people around you have no such problem. You must act, but at the risk of cutting the last tethers of a relationship. Perhaps it was all dust and illusion anyways, and the blade you use merely reveals there was no strength left in those bonds anyways.