Being an incel is like navigating a life filled with unending frustration and profound solitude. It often feels as if every interaction is weighed down by an invisible barrier, a chasm that separates me from those who effortlessly connect with one another. I scroll through social media, watching my peers revel in the joys of relationships, parties, and experiences that seem forever out of reach for me. Each post reminds me of my isolation, as I’m constantly battling the nagging thoughts of inadequacy and the feeling that I’m missing out on a fundamental human experience—love. My attempts to engage with others, whether it be through online forums or in person, often end in failure, reinforcing the belief that I am somehow not worthy of affection or companionship.

With every rejection and awkward interaction, I become more entrenched in the belief that the world is rigged against me, and I start to adopt a defensive mindset. It's easy to slip into victimhood—society's standards of beauty and desirability tower over me and leave me feeling small, invisible, and unwanted. The prevailing narratives around dating and relationships can feel mocking, as I'm bombarded with advice that feels irrelevant to my reality. "Just be yourself," they say, completely disregarding the fact that my self seems to be a perpetual source of disappointment both to me and others. It grows increasingly exhausting to keep trying to fit in, to adhere to a social script that feels foreign and ineffective.

Every day is a struggle against the creeping despair that comes from realizing that the things I desire most—intimacy, connection, and understanding—are often reserved for others who seem to possess qualities I lack. I’ve witnessed countless friends move on to meaningful relationships, while I remain stagnant, trapped in a cycle of longing and loneliness. It's as though I’m standing outside a window, watching the warmth of human connection unfold within, my heart heavy with the weight of what could be.

The internet, a double-edged sword for those of us in the incel community, can provide a space to share these feelings, a place to vent frustrations and seek understanding. Yet, it can also be a breeding ground for toxic ideologies and unhealthy mindsets. In the depths of forums, I see echoes of my own pain reflected back at me, mixed with resentment and a growing anger toward a society that seems to have moved on without me. The allure of blaming women, society, or even fate becomes tempting, as it’s easier to redirect the pain externally than to confront the uncomfortable truth of my situation.

Despite the anger that occasionally flares within me, underneath it all is an ocean of sadness—a sorrow for what I feel I’ve missed and what I may never attain. I yearn for companionship but often don’t know how to bridge the chasm that exists between me and the rest of the world. My social skills feel rusty, and each failed attempt at conversation reinforces my internal narrative of inadequacy. The fear of rejection looms large, making it nearly impossible to take risks in seeking human connection. The weight of loneliness is relentless, pressing down until it feels unbearable.

As time drifts by, I find myself grappling with existential questions about my value and purpose. Incel culture, with its darker undercurrents, can sometimes offer a sense of community, encouraging me to embrace the struggle rather than deny it. Yet, it’s essential for me to remember that while understanding my pain is crucial, it shouldn't morph into a place of bitterness or hatred. There remains a flicker of hope deep within me, the faint belief that change is possible, and that maybe someday I can break through the barriers that bind me.

Navigating this experience is daunting, and every day feels like an uphill battle against an imposing, invisible mountain. I wish for understanding, acceptance, and the chance to feel valued in a world that often overlooks the silent struggles of those like me. For now, I continue to tread this lonely path, searching for light in the shadows of my isolation.

Flame, Unnamed headcrab 9001 - I'm sorry.