A flock of birds nestle together in the cold night, their warmth shared. Rabbits gnaw on grass in groups, each looking out for one another. The white glow of streetlights illuminates the path of a couple returning to their shared apartment that always smells like curry. It's small, but it's just the right size for all their fond memories together. And then there's me. Alone in my room with just a heater to prevent the shivers. But no amount of electric heat can warm my cold soul that longs to escape the freeze of isolation.
What's brutality? Brutality is having to go to the mall, see couples with interlinked hands, and for a brief second, have to bite your lip to stop the tears. Brutality is realising you haven't touched a female in months, maybe years, and it feels traumatic. Brutality is realising you're in and out of psych wards, spending thousands on mental health care when a hug would cure it all. Brutality is falling in love with your 49 year old psychologist just because she's nice to you.
There are no canyons deep enough to engulf the feelings loneliness, rejection, and inadequacy that come from inceldom. True incels that were born this way. They say there's somebody for everybody - a darn lie. There is nobody for a 156cm ugly poorcel. This you and I both know. Love will never come my way, and the bulk of my life, as I sit as a 28yo male, will be spent single, unadmired, and unwanted. It doesn't get easier from here on out. It gets worse as I age. This is the timeline of misery.
Does that give you some insight into what it feels like to be an incel? Maybe this will:
Nobody for the five foot freak. Nobody. I am a nobody.
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the things I would do with an exact duplicate of that bong foid, like get her to admit coffee > tea and also motorboat her boobies.
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