I’m twenty-eight. Never had a girlfriend. Never been kissed. Never touched a girl except my own mother. This is how it has always been. It will never change. It used to hurt me back when I was younger, but that pain has slowly been worn down into apathy. I don’t hurt anymore. I don’t feel anything. Every day consists of me moving my numb body through the same tasks again and again. I know that this is my hand and I’ve got a seven and a two. I wish I had never been born. This unhappiness will never subside, for as long as I look and am the way that I am.
My copes are nothing more than pornography, drinking and smoking weed. I can’t bring myself to step out the front door unless I have to. And even then, I still make sure it is dark or there is no one around to see me. My clothes are worn at the seams from shuffling around my room.
I sometimes wonder if the more I accept my hand, the worse it will become. I still hold onto one small shred of hope that there is someone out there who feels exactly the same who I can touch and lie next to. I don’t even care what they look like. But I have no money, no friends, no reason to leave my bed, let alone my room, let alone my house, let alone this fucking town I have spent all twenty-eight years of my miserable existence in.
I know that in ten years time, things will be exactly the same for me. This is my hand. My body is wasting away. I do everything in my power to speed it up in that endeavour.
High school was the worst time. I was ignored for the first two years, living in complete obscurity. It made me depressed but was nothing compared to what the next years were like. As time went on and everyone else grew, people started to realise that I was there, and that they didn’t want me there. I didn’t even do anything to start it. One day I was sat on the bus and these kids in front of my picked me up by my legs and arms and threw me down the aisle. I didn’t even try to fight back. There was nothing I could do. I was like a crab on its back. They began to throw their bags at my head. My nose broke after about bag number three. It has never been the same since. I was unconscious and woke up in the bus depot that evening. No one even noticed I was gone. I walked home, covered in blood, tears rolling down my face.
When I got back, dad had left. Turns out he was about to have a child with some foid in Casper [Wyoming]. I thought he was the only man I could ever talk to.
I’ve hated men ever since. I am disgusted to be one. I often fantasize about what I would be like if I was a girl.
One day I’ll get the courage to ropemaxx out of this hell.
Can any of you virgins relate?
My copes are nothing more than pornography, drinking and smoking weed. I can’t bring myself to step out the front door unless I have to. And even then, I still make sure it is dark or there is no one around to see me. My clothes are worn at the seams from shuffling around my room.
I sometimes wonder if the more I accept my hand, the worse it will become. I still hold onto one small shred of hope that there is someone out there who feels exactly the same who I can touch and lie next to. I don’t even care what they look like. But I have no money, no friends, no reason to leave my bed, let alone my room, let alone my house, let alone this fucking town I have spent all twenty-eight years of my miserable existence in.
I know that in ten years time, things will be exactly the same for me. This is my hand. My body is wasting away. I do everything in my power to speed it up in that endeavour.
High school was the worst time. I was ignored for the first two years, living in complete obscurity. It made me depressed but was nothing compared to what the next years were like. As time went on and everyone else grew, people started to realise that I was there, and that they didn’t want me there. I didn’t even do anything to start it. One day I was sat on the bus and these kids in front of my picked me up by my legs and arms and threw me down the aisle. I didn’t even try to fight back. There was nothing I could do. I was like a crab on its back. They began to throw their bags at my head. My nose broke after about bag number three. It has never been the same since. I was unconscious and woke up in the bus depot that evening. No one even noticed I was gone. I walked home, covered in blood, tears rolling down my face.
When I got back, dad had left. Turns out he was about to have a child with some foid in Casper [Wyoming]. I thought he was the only man I could ever talk to.
I’ve hated men ever since. I am disgusted to be one. I often fantasize about what I would be like if I was a girl.
One day I’ll get the courage to ropemaxx out of this hell.
Can any of you virgins relate?
