I would be so presumptuous as to speak on behalf of anyone here save for myself. But I am incel and, at least insofar as my own situation is concerned, I feel I have some right to answer.
Yes, I would have preferred to have been normal. As I grew up and began to find girls attractive, I would have liked for at least one of them to have found me attractive in return. It would have been nice to see a friendly smile rather than nothing but looks of disgust. It would have been nice to experience those silly, awkward moments that adolescents take for granted: the school dances with all of their absurd dramas, the first nervous date at some movie where I sat beside someone, each of us wondering which moment would be the right one to reach out and take the other's hand. The heated moments, the awkward breakups, the petty infidelities...all pains that real human beings lament and that monsters who never had and never will experience such hardships envy more than a poor man does Mammon's hoard. Normal human beings dream of living like gods, their lives nothing but pleasure upon pleasure devoid of pain. Abominations, on the other hand, spend their reveries dreaming of living like men, not imagining some idyllic scenario in which they are excepted from pain but, rather, allowed to experience the kind of suffering that is every human being's lot. There's an entire world of difference between rejected by a woman who loved you once, touched you once, and being rejected a priori by every single woman who's disgust at the prospect of being touched by you is just as immediate and visceral to her as her drawing her very next breath.
Yes, I wanted to be normal. As I watched the friends I made in university find the significant others they eventually went on to marry, spending their youth holding each other rather than a bottle of cheap liquor, I wanted nothing more than to follow them into whatever frightening journey they were on the verge of embarking upon. Terrifying, to be sure, full of uncertainty and every possibility of failure. But, at the very least, there was also the potential for success. Some had relationships that failed, of course but, wonder of wonders, they found new relationships. Every heart I witnessed being broken was healed by a new woman more than eager to mend it. The miseries of the peasant in some passion play pales in comparison to the glories of the hero, but even the former's most pathetic moment is envied by the monstrous villain who's fate at the end of the tale was foregone long before it even began.
There's a nice little consolation prize offered up to we things no one wants, mistakes who find themselves in dark places and circumscribed by secret circles. We're told that having been denied exorteric knowledge, we'll be privy to wisdom of an esoteric variety. We'll see more than men, we'll be higher than normal people because Nature will inexplicably blaspheme Herself and declare that, despite Herself, Hell is actually above and Heaven below.
Nonsense, of course. Nothing but little lies to placate irritable freaks long enough until they have the decency to die quietly in their rightful places behind the panes of glass in the sideshow normal human beings frequent to assure themselves that, hard as their lot may be, it could be so much worse.
There's no secret knowledge to be found chained in service of the sideshow. To pretend otherwise would be succumbing to the delusions of Joseph Merrick who, rejected by Mother Nature, turned his gaze toward a troupe of deformed pinheads and convinced himself he was in the presence of the Queens of the Cosmos.
