I turned 29 recently. It is finally catching up to me, how over it all is, and I am not sure why it took so long. My 20s were supposed to be a wild ride, I was supposed to have made all sorts of bad decisions (well, I did, but I mean, cooler ones), I was supposed to have had low inhibition spur of the moment type of experiences, but all I did was daydreamcel and lament on how I wasn't born as good looking as Miroslav Cech. Isolating myself at home, committing myself religiously to "looksmaxing" via subliminals, mewing and facercising until I deemed myself "presentable to the world," a day which ultimately would never come.
How many times on my birthday did I say, "you're still in your 20s, you've got plenty of time to improve your appearance and confidence, and if you don't have it completely figured out, well, there's next year! You'll still be in your 20s." (And when I'd blow the candles, my wish was for this to become a reality). But I can't say that anymore. I've reached the finishing line of my 20s and missed out on all those miles of fun that the average person has experienced by the time they get to this age, and now they get to chart out the next, tamer, stage of their lives. If I had hypothetically reached my envisioned ideal sometime in my mid 20s, and gotten that "checklist" out of the way, and undone some of my past programming, perhaps I could have seen for myself if I was actually as incel (and functionally asexual) as I thought I was. And I'd still have had a good chunk of my 20s left to make up for those lost experiences.
But I never reached it bros. I never did anything beyond pay for expensive plastic surgery consults. I never stuck to a proper looksmaxing routine (4/10 is still better than 3.9/10, and it can get you a 0.0006/10 landwhale instead of nothing!). Perhaps it was the layers of self-hatred and misappropriated coping mechanisms that shrouded my true sexual nature, if I even ever had one.
I just don't see how it can possibly get any better from here on out.
How many times on my birthday did I say, "you're still in your 20s, you've got plenty of time to improve your appearance and confidence, and if you don't have it completely figured out, well, there's next year! You'll still be in your 20s." (And when I'd blow the candles, my wish was for this to become a reality). But I can't say that anymore. I've reached the finishing line of my 20s and missed out on all those miles of fun that the average person has experienced by the time they get to this age, and now they get to chart out the next, tamer, stage of their lives. If I had hypothetically reached my envisioned ideal sometime in my mid 20s, and gotten that "checklist" out of the way, and undone some of my past programming, perhaps I could have seen for myself if I was actually as incel (and functionally asexual) as I thought I was. And I'd still have had a good chunk of my 20s left to make up for those lost experiences.
But I never reached it bros. I never did anything beyond pay for expensive plastic surgery consults. I never stuck to a proper looksmaxing routine (4/10 is still better than 3.9/10, and it can get you a 0.0006/10 landwhale instead of nothing!). Perhaps it was the layers of self-hatred and misappropriated coping mechanisms that shrouded my true sexual nature, if I even ever had one.
I just don't see how it can possibly get any better from here on out.
