I was a poor son of a bitch, unlucky right from birth.
I was birthed into a cruel, cold world as an aspie, a defect.
I was autistic: and nobody cared.
I remember a book I read as a child, very vividly.
"Goodnight, Moon," I believe it was called.
The visuals in the book really stood out to me; I loved the gentle shades of blue.
Thinking back on that book has given me calm amongst squalls.
Even though nobody cares.
I still remember, to this day, my first bully.
I was in Kindergarten; I was sitting on the bus, coming to home.
He was slapping me in the back of the head. It was not a favorable arrangement for me.
I remember that I cried, and moved to the front of the bus.
He laughed; all the kids laughed. I was humiliated. Tormented. Bullied for it later, when the other students heard about it.
And did my parents care? Did the bus driver care? Did the teacher care? No. Nobody cared, about the weird kid being bullied.
I was unable to form friendships all throughout Kindergarten, first grade, second grade.
I formed many bullies around me, though. One such bully I remember early on;
I remember in the second grade, one of my bullies convinced me to piss on the walls of the bathroom, in the elementary school.
I was a gullible and stupid child then, and he was tricking me; deceived me into believing he would no longer be a bully, but a friend, if I did.
He was going to do it, too. In fact, he already had.
So I did.
I was desperately lonely, even then. My bully reported me, and I got in trouble.
I remember the long office hours with my parents. I remember being made to clean up my piss.
They made me clean my bully's piss, too; thought it was mine, though I tried to explain it was not.
It was humiliating. It was demeaning. I remember wondering why I believed him, questioning how gullible I really am.
Did anybody listen? Did anyone believe me? Did anyone care? Did my parents care? No. Nobody cared.
I remember fourth grade coming about. I remember my mother being concerned about my lack of social status.
She wanted me to have friends. She spoke to my counselor. I was present, and wishing I was at home, playing my video games.
It was humiliating, talking about me, in front of me, as if I was a failed science experiment. Did they care how I felt? No. Nobody gave a single shit.
They set me up with two boys from my grade. They were going to be my "friends."
It was a playdate, of course, but I had no understanding of this at the time. I thought they were actually my friends.
It wouldn't be until years later that I would realize they were not; they never were. They never cared.
I remember they would try to distance themselves from me; when I tried to sit with them in the lunch room, they would close the gap.
Make sure there was no space for the special kid to sit down. Most of the time, I had to give up, and go sit at another table, alone.
I ate my lunches alone, as I always did. Everybody saw. Nobody cared.
My playdates' mothers were friends with my mother; their mothers forced them to invite me to sleepovers and birthday parties.
When I showed up at their birthdays, I gave them their gift, and they begrudgingly accepted. And then I was left alone as soon as all the parents had left.
Did anyone care that the weird kid was alone? Abandoned? No. Nobody cared.
I remember how in fourth grade, I had my first crush on a girl.
I saw her on the playground during recess; I still remember her name. She was wearing a blue dress and blue tights. I don't know why I remember that.
She wasn't mean to me right away, like the other students were. I thought she was friendly.
Turned out she wasn't. I wanted to be friends; she walked away, disgusted.
I still crushed on her for many years following. It was a weakness of mine. One I am thankful I have purged from my system.
Thinking back, I was being picked on, at the time, just before that.
I think she just felt pity. More likely she was virtue signalling. After all, it's not like anybody ever cared.
I remember fifth grade vividly. I had three teachers; a strange arrangement. I was also diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome.
I felt humiliated; not just for being mentally ill; "broken." But also for the name of the affliction I was cursed with:
It was a name that would haunt me for years.
I came to a bitter realization at that point; I realized that I was "different" from my peers, and that this was the reason why they had abandoned me. Exiled me.
It was the first time I thought about the rope; I thought about grabbing a fork from the kitchen. I used to sit and stare at the electrical outlet in my room.
I was depressed. At such a young age. And did anybody care? No. I was alone, in this cold, dark world.
I remember when I entered sixth grade: when I entered middle school.
My playdates were free of their mothers' clutches, and abandoned me. They no longer wished to be seen around me.
I remember the last time I ever hung out with either of them; one of them had been brought over to my house by his mother.
She made him hand me a gift, undoubtedly picked out and wrapped by her. It was a magic 8 ball.
He was looking at the ground the whole time. This was summer between fifth and sixth grade.
We went to my basement. He brought his gamecube over, and Pikmin. I sat and watched him play. He wouldn't let me play; he wouldn't say a word.
We sat in silence.
Later, he went home. That was the last time I ever considered myself to having friends.
And nobody cared.
My "friends" abandoned me when we entered middle school. I started to hate them for it.
That was the first time in my life I ever felt true hatred; I hated them for leaving me. I hated all my other peers for the way they had treated me.
But I tried to hide it. It was an expanded student body, now: students were brought in from the other elementary schools, and we were all combined in one class.
I remember getting my locker in sixth grade; we had shared lockers due to limited volume.
My locker mate was not pleased with having to share with me. I remember trying to introduce myself; he got violently angry.
He asked me why the school had to stick him with the special needs kid. I had nothing to say.
I lowered the hand I had reached out for a shake, as he pushed past me and hit my shoulder; I stood there, feeling humiliated.
Some students nearby were snickering. Some male, some female. I was humiliated, embarrassed, and treated like trash, and nobody cared.
Things only got worse as the years went on.
The bullies were getting more ruthless, and ever more clever; they were masters of messing with me when teachers weren't around.
They were also masters of getting me to retaliate just as a teacher would round the corner of the hall.
I always got in trouble. Nobody would listen when I tried to explain the situation; my parents, my counselors, my teachers, nobody cared.
I tried to make new friends when I got to middle school; I was more brutally rejected.
Students got angrier and louder in their rejections of my friendship. Some of them would bully me, and hit me, or push me into lockers, or the walls, and crush me.
They didn't like it when I was around.
I tried to talk to kids between class; they would walk away.
I tried to sit down with kids at lunch; they would get up and move to another table, or another class.
I tried to join groups for group projects in class, or be picked for gym teams;
I was always the last picked, and the teachers would either force a group or team to take me, or I'd work on a team-size project on my own.
I saw some kids in junior high school, playing yugioh at a table during lunch. I liked yugioh.
I walked over, and sat down. I watched them play for a little bit, then tried to strike conversation about the game.
They packed up their cards, got up, and went to another room. I felt humiliated, and mistreated, and nobody cared.
My counselors, and my many therapists I had been to see, were of no help to me.
They did not help me learn to socialize; they did nothing to aid with my disability.
I do remember they would gaslight me all the time, and they would tell me that I can't defend myself from my bullies.
They asked me a bunch of stupid questions, that I did not wish to answer. I was punished for this, and resented my mother, and my therapists.
They thought I was the instigator; they treated me like I was starting all these fights. But I wasn't. I didn't like being hit.
My father would hit me. He would often tackle me, pin me down, and yell in my face, whenever I acted up in school, or whenever I had an autistic meltdown at home.
It was terrifying. I thought he was a monster. I hated him; I hated my mother, too.
She smothered me, sheltered me, and was harder on me than my counselors.
I remember I was once grounded for six months straight, because I got a C on one of my report cards.
I was miserable. I was unhappy. And now, I was left without the only cope I had: video games. Did anybody care? No. Nobody cared.
I used to watch cartoons when I was young. I remember enjoying Extreme Ghostbusters.
And I would watch Jackie Chan Adventures, because we only had local TV, and no cable or dish growing up, so I didn't have that fancy Nickelodeon stuff.
And Jackie Chan Adventures was better than the other shit that was on; namely, Pokemon, and capeshit garbage that I hated even back then.
It grew on me. I watched TV when nobody would hang out with me. I would watch TV because nobody wanted to be my friend.
Nobody cared.
I remember I used to pray to God for help. This was back when I genuinely believed in the Christian faith. Well, Lutheran, but who's counting?
But I was ignored. God didn't care; He did not love me. I was a reject. His failure. He would not help me.
Even God was too busy to care.
I remember in junior high, I played card games with a counselor during lunch period. It was embarrassing, but I was forced to go.
I didn't want to be the special kid going off to talk to a counselor during lunch; she would ask about what was going on, and I said nothing.
I didn't want to be there; I wanted to be with the other kids. The normal kids. I wanted to be normal.
But did anybody care? Did anybody listen? No. Nobody cared.
I had a second crush on a girl, when I was in junior high. She was in my art class; and she was pretty. Out of my league. I remember her name, too.
I remember hoping that she would ask me out; I was naive, back then. Sheltered; autistic. I did not realize that was not the way things worked.
I truly believed men and women were equal, and I don't mean I was indoctrinated into feminism. That's just how I used to see everyone: as all the same.
So I logically concluded that, if guys could ask out girls, then girls could, and would, ask out guys.
I was too shy, and lovestruck, and didn't know how to talk to girls back then. I didn't know how to approach; I didn't know what to say.
I hoped she would take the initiative, instead. She didn't. What a surprise.
I felt empty. I just wanted a girlfriend. Didn't have to be her; could be anyone at the school, really. But nobody wanted me.
Nobody cared.
I remember when I was in high school, in my junior and senior years.
I was in a computer programming class each year. It was an entirely new concept to me, at the time.
I remember in my senior year, a classmate was into Legend of Zelda. I liked Legend of Zelda; I was playing A Link to the Past in class, on Game Boy.
He also had that game. I remember asking if he would play Four Swords with me, so I could get the collectibles.
It took some convincing, but eventually, I was allowed, for a few weeks at the end of senior year, to join him and his friends outside during lunch, so we could play.
I never did unlock everything; he was too good, and wouldn't let me get any of the unlockables, even though he had all of them, already.
I tried to make friends with him; I wanted to know if he'd hang out after graduation. He never gave me an answer.
I walked home on my final day in high school, instead of taking the bus. I was reflecting on how much everything had gone wrong in my life.
And did anybody care? No, nobody cared.
I remember spending most of my lunch periods in high school hiding out in the library. It kept the bullies at bay, and I could indulge in a new hobby I had at the time: reading.
I remember I would play online games on the computers, too. Things like Line Rider and Snowball Fight.
I also played games on my graphing calculator. I would play those on my bus rides to and from school, as well, and in class.
My math teachers weren't happy about this; neither were my parents. In fact, my parents were rather unhappy with the fact all my grades were dropping.
I was depressed; I couldn't focus or find the motivation to do my homework. But it's not as if anybody cared.
I remember my third crush. I even still remember her name, as well. We went to high school together.
I remember trying to talk to her, but I couldn't. The words got stuck in my mouth; my tongue dried completely, and felt swollen.
We were in a English/Language Arts class together. The teacher assigned us a speech project; we had to talk about a hobby we liked.
I remember giving two speeches, one in college, and this one in high school; one of them was about drawing mazes. I don't remember which.
I was really big into mazes when I was young. I had several maze books with graphical mazes, and would draw many of my own, among other things.
I made some really detailed mazes.
I remember my crush giving a speech in that class about dancing. I remember a tip about spinning, about fixing your eyes on unmoving objects as you go, so you don't get dizzy.
I daydreamed about us going on a date, and dancing. I thought it was romantic.
I deluded myself into thinking she locked eyes with me during that speech, as she was spinning; I thought she was interested in me.
I was a dumbass, of course. A retarded aspie, who didn't realize what was going on, didn't understand social situations, and had many imagined beliefs of how others really viewed me.
I tried talking to her again, after that; I really wanted to dance with her. I thought maybe I could ask her to a school dance.
My tongue locked up again; I didn't no go to the dance. And not one person ever cared.
I remember seeing my third crush in college, too. We went to the same school; at least, we did, in the first two years. I don't remember seeing her after that.
We crossed paths walking opposite directions across the soccer field on campus. She ignored me; walked right by, but swerved a bit so as to distance herself.
I couldn't get her attention; she wasn't interested. She didn't care.
College was the first time I ever asked a girl out. She was married, and I did not see the ring; it was humiliating.
But it was also exhilarating: I was finally able to do something I did not have the guts to do.
And I continued to try.
You see, I had already been trying for years by that point to overcome my disability, learn how to properly socialize, and get over my fear of talking to girls.
Part of the motivation was from my mother, actually; she would mock me and make fun of me for not being able to read her facial expressions.
Sometimes, in the evenings, she would cover her mouth, or her eyes, and ask me to tell her what emotion she was expressing.
I could never tell.
She would laugh at me every time. I wanted to prove her wrong; I wanted her to feel humiliation for once. So I started to learn about my disability, and tried to learn how to be normal.
I remember I used to be mocked for the way I walk, and run: I held my arms stiff at my sides, you see. I would also hunch over very far when running.
I tried to learn how to swing my arms in cadence with my walk; I watched other students as they walked around.
I wanted to mimic their behavior. So I practiced.
I habitualized it. To this day, I walk normal, and have a normal, light swing to my arms with each step. That's not all I accomplished, but it was one of the earliest.
But did anybody ever notice? Did my mother notice? No. Nobody cared.
I thought college would be a new start for me; the new start that middle school proved not to be.
And so I would continue to think, until graduation. I was finally able to socialize; more accurately, I found people who would tolerate my presence on campus.
I tried to make friends; I tried to establish connections, and tried to coax them into inviting me to hang out.
Sometimes, I would ask them to hang out. They never really gave a straight answer, but I figured it was just too early.
It was slowly dawning on me, though, as my years in college went by: no girls ever said "yes" to my approaches; nobody ever actually wanted to hang out as friends.
I was becoming severely depressed, once again, as I was slowly becoming aware of this horrible truth.
My grades were slipping; so badly, in fact, I was threatened on numerous occasions of being kicked out of the school for having grades too low.
I still managed to graduate, but only barely. And after graduation, I tried to get in contact with all my "friends" from college;
I just wanted to hit them up, ask how things were going. See if they knew of any open positions I could get into.
I was ghosted by every last one of them. Not a single one of my peers from college cared.
I was stuck for many years after working a minimum wage job, paying off my student loans.
Working with a government agency meant to help people with disabilities find employment; they were terrible. They were of no help to me.
One of the recruitment agencies that worked through them had even been investigated by the state for fraud, at the time I was working with them.
Go figure. Only I could have that luck.
And I tried. I tried so hard to land a job. But employers weren't interested; every one asked my GPA.
I never heard from them after that. So I lost hope. I gave up, and stopped trying.
And my mother was overbearing through this time. Watching my every move. So I became a night owl; I stayed up at night, playing video games.
When the sun came up in the morning, I would go to sleep, so I wouldn't have to deal with her.
I'd go to work in the afternoon, just after waking up. I was miserable. I was working a part-time job in IT for part of this time, too; totaling fifty hours a week between the two jobs. I was stressed to the max. I was losing my grip on reality.
But nobody cared.
My mother wouldn't let up on my case. Not until she passed away, in any case.
She died of cancer. I remember feeling relief at not having a helicopter over my head, anymore. But I also felt great loss.
It was around this time I was led on, too, by a girl at work.
All my coworkers were telling me she was interested in me; she was flirting with me. So I asked her for her number.
She was texting at all times of the day. I was getting advice from my coworkers on how to proceed; I did not want to fuck up.
This was still before my black pilled days, you see. And I still had hope; she would crush the last of that, though.
After a week of talking, my coworkers told me I should ask her out. So I did. I still remember it to this day; I remember the tornado siren going off around that time.
It was just a test; it was a bright and sunny day. I remember it vividly, like it only happened a year ago. In fact, it was eight years ago, now.
I popped the question, asked her out on a date; she said she thought we were just friends, and wanted to stay that way.
I remember my stomach sinking painfully into the ground; I gave a half-hearted agreement, and barely payed attention to the rest of the conversation.
I was floored. I felt betrayed. It wasn't just that I was led on by this girl, only to be rejected and friendzoned; I was humiliated, because my coworkers had misled me. They lied to me. And not a single one of them gave a single shit.
This was the hardest time of my life. My mother had passed; I had just had my heart pulled out of my chest, and curb stomped in humiliating fashion.
I was crushed, broken. My life was spiraling.
My depression became incredibly severe. I was, once again, strongly considering the rope.
My anxiety and stress were through the roof each day; oftentimes, I couldn't stop my hands from shaking, and breathing often hurt something fierce.
For the next three months, this girl kept flirting with me, even after establishing the friendzone. It was not good for my mental health; I think she was doing it to torment me.
I had to tell her to stop, and to leave me alone.
I was distressed and distraught. I belonged to an anonymous forum online: Two Cans and String. I no longer have an account, as I was IPbanned for saying "nigger."
But I was speaking to somebody on there about my problems; a normie business student, I believe, who would listen to me complain about my life.
Who would listen to me talk about how shattered I felt, how horrible everything was, and how intense was the pain I felt at being led on and rejected.
As those months dragged on, I came closer and closer to the rope.
It was near the end of summer I finally decided: for the first time (and last time since) in my life, I actually fully intended to do the deed, and embrace my fate.
But he talked me out of it. Somehow, someway. I allowed myself to continue suffering in misery because some random nobody told me not to.
But they didn't really care. Nobody cared.
I remember this was when I was starting to feel bitter and jaded; and I felt resentful toward the girl who had led me on.
I told my feelings to this anonymous business student, and they cut off communication with me. They weren't pleased with where my thoughts were headed.
Said I was becoming "misogynistic."
Frustrated, and with nowhere else to turn, I searched the internet for other lonely souls, to see if I might not be the only one.
And that was how I found the ForeverAlone subreddit.
I lurked for many months on that sub. I was too shy, and too afraid to post. They talked often of the incels, and I would chuckle at these obscene boogeymen who were evil woman-haters.
But, I grew curious over time, and one day, poked my nose into the incel subreddit, yes, the OG incel sub, to see what the monkeys were doing in the zoo.
And I was shocked at what I found; I thought these were evil animals, making shit up, and being horrible just because they were horrible people.
Instead, what I found was brotherhood, and their so-called "hateful ideology" was actually backed up with much scientific data.
I was aghast. I realized I had been spending time with the wrong crowd. I joined the incels that day, and found comfort in a new community.
But still, did anybody care? No. I was nobody, nothing.
To this day, I sit alone, in my room, in my father's house, unable to move out due to lack of resources and social support.
I browse this forum. I engage in my copes. I get personally attacked by JBW copers who do not recognize my legitimate inceldom.
I still deal with the gaslighting, and the bullying. I am a failure in my career, I am a failure at making friends, I am a failure at getting into a relationship and having sex.
I am a loser.
I drink every night, and get high when my depression becomes too much to handle, or I'm struck with my lifelong insomnia.
Tonight it's depression.
I used to be on the other side of the fence, in a desperate bid to cling to what little hope I managed to sustain throughout the beginning of my life, up until eight years ago.
Now, I am fully black pilled, but also fully and severely depressed, and with no hope nor ambition. I see myself sinking, toward an inescapable event horizon;
With each passing day, I lose more and more energy, and motivation to do any work, or try anything in my life.
Why bother? Every time I've tried at anything in my life, I've only ever failed, and in humiliating fashion, no less.
I cannot succeed. The universe is set against me. That much is clear to me, now.
I am a lonely man.
I am a suffering man.
I am a broken man.
And the greatest joke of all? NOBODY CARES.
I was birthed into a cruel, cold world as an aspie, a defect.
I was autistic: and nobody cared.
I remember a book I read as a child, very vividly.
"Goodnight, Moon," I believe it was called.
The visuals in the book really stood out to me; I loved the gentle shades of blue.
Thinking back on that book has given me calm amongst squalls.
Even though nobody cares.
I still remember, to this day, my first bully.
I was in Kindergarten; I was sitting on the bus, coming to home.
He was slapping me in the back of the head. It was not a favorable arrangement for me.
I remember that I cried, and moved to the front of the bus.
He laughed; all the kids laughed. I was humiliated. Tormented. Bullied for it later, when the other students heard about it.
And did my parents care? Did the bus driver care? Did the teacher care? No. Nobody cared, about the weird kid being bullied.
I was unable to form friendships all throughout Kindergarten, first grade, second grade.
I formed many bullies around me, though. One such bully I remember early on;
I remember in the second grade, one of my bullies convinced me to piss on the walls of the bathroom, in the elementary school.
I was a gullible and stupid child then, and he was tricking me; deceived me into believing he would no longer be a bully, but a friend, if I did.
He was going to do it, too. In fact, he already had.
So I did.
I was desperately lonely, even then. My bully reported me, and I got in trouble.
I remember the long office hours with my parents. I remember being made to clean up my piss.
They made me clean my bully's piss, too; thought it was mine, though I tried to explain it was not.
It was humiliating. It was demeaning. I remember wondering why I believed him, questioning how gullible I really am.
Did anybody listen? Did anyone believe me? Did anyone care? Did my parents care? No. Nobody cared.
I remember fourth grade coming about. I remember my mother being concerned about my lack of social status.
She wanted me to have friends. She spoke to my counselor. I was present, and wishing I was at home, playing my video games.
It was humiliating, talking about me, in front of me, as if I was a failed science experiment. Did they care how I felt? No. Nobody gave a single shit.
They set me up with two boys from my grade. They were going to be my "friends."
It was a playdate, of course, but I had no understanding of this at the time. I thought they were actually my friends.
It wouldn't be until years later that I would realize they were not; they never were. They never cared.
I remember they would try to distance themselves from me; when I tried to sit with them in the lunch room, they would close the gap.
Make sure there was no space for the special kid to sit down. Most of the time, I had to give up, and go sit at another table, alone.
I ate my lunches alone, as I always did. Everybody saw. Nobody cared.
My playdates' mothers were friends with my mother; their mothers forced them to invite me to sleepovers and birthday parties.
When I showed up at their birthdays, I gave them their gift, and they begrudgingly accepted. And then I was left alone as soon as all the parents had left.
Did anyone care that the weird kid was alone? Abandoned? No. Nobody cared.
I remember how in fourth grade, I had my first crush on a girl.
I saw her on the playground during recess; I still remember her name. She was wearing a blue dress and blue tights. I don't know why I remember that.
She wasn't mean to me right away, like the other students were. I thought she was friendly.
Turned out she wasn't. I wanted to be friends; she walked away, disgusted.
I still crushed on her for many years following. It was a weakness of mine. One I am thankful I have purged from my system.
Thinking back, I was being picked on, at the time, just before that.
I think she just felt pity. More likely she was virtue signalling. After all, it's not like anybody ever cared.
I remember fifth grade vividly. I had three teachers; a strange arrangement. I was also diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome.
I felt humiliated; not just for being mentally ill; "broken." But also for the name of the affliction I was cursed with:
It was a name that would haunt me for years.
I came to a bitter realization at that point; I realized that I was "different" from my peers, and that this was the reason why they had abandoned me. Exiled me.
It was the first time I thought about the rope; I thought about grabbing a fork from the kitchen. I used to sit and stare at the electrical outlet in my room.
I was depressed. At such a young age. And did anybody care? No. I was alone, in this cold, dark world.
I remember when I entered sixth grade: when I entered middle school.
My playdates were free of their mothers' clutches, and abandoned me. They no longer wished to be seen around me.
I remember the last time I ever hung out with either of them; one of them had been brought over to my house by his mother.
She made him hand me a gift, undoubtedly picked out and wrapped by her. It was a magic 8 ball.
He was looking at the ground the whole time. This was summer between fifth and sixth grade.
We went to my basement. He brought his gamecube over, and Pikmin. I sat and watched him play. He wouldn't let me play; he wouldn't say a word.
We sat in silence.
Later, he went home. That was the last time I ever considered myself to having friends.
And nobody cared.
My "friends" abandoned me when we entered middle school. I started to hate them for it.
That was the first time in my life I ever felt true hatred; I hated them for leaving me. I hated all my other peers for the way they had treated me.
But I tried to hide it. It was an expanded student body, now: students were brought in from the other elementary schools, and we were all combined in one class.
I remember getting my locker in sixth grade; we had shared lockers due to limited volume.
My locker mate was not pleased with having to share with me. I remember trying to introduce myself; he got violently angry.
He asked me why the school had to stick him with the special needs kid. I had nothing to say.
I lowered the hand I had reached out for a shake, as he pushed past me and hit my shoulder; I stood there, feeling humiliated.
Some students nearby were snickering. Some male, some female. I was humiliated, embarrassed, and treated like trash, and nobody cared.
Things only got worse as the years went on.
The bullies were getting more ruthless, and ever more clever; they were masters of messing with me when teachers weren't around.
They were also masters of getting me to retaliate just as a teacher would round the corner of the hall.
I always got in trouble. Nobody would listen when I tried to explain the situation; my parents, my counselors, my teachers, nobody cared.
I tried to make new friends when I got to middle school; I was more brutally rejected.
Students got angrier and louder in their rejections of my friendship. Some of them would bully me, and hit me, or push me into lockers, or the walls, and crush me.
They didn't like it when I was around.
I tried to talk to kids between class; they would walk away.
I tried to sit down with kids at lunch; they would get up and move to another table, or another class.
I tried to join groups for group projects in class, or be picked for gym teams;
I was always the last picked, and the teachers would either force a group or team to take me, or I'd work on a team-size project on my own.
I saw some kids in junior high school, playing yugioh at a table during lunch. I liked yugioh.
I walked over, and sat down. I watched them play for a little bit, then tried to strike conversation about the game.
They packed up their cards, got up, and went to another room. I felt humiliated, and mistreated, and nobody cared.
My counselors, and my many therapists I had been to see, were of no help to me.
They did not help me learn to socialize; they did nothing to aid with my disability.
I do remember they would gaslight me all the time, and they would tell me that I can't defend myself from my bullies.
They asked me a bunch of stupid questions, that I did not wish to answer. I was punished for this, and resented my mother, and my therapists.
They thought I was the instigator; they treated me like I was starting all these fights. But I wasn't. I didn't like being hit.
My father would hit me. He would often tackle me, pin me down, and yell in my face, whenever I acted up in school, or whenever I had an autistic meltdown at home.
It was terrifying. I thought he was a monster. I hated him; I hated my mother, too.
She smothered me, sheltered me, and was harder on me than my counselors.
I remember I was once grounded for six months straight, because I got a C on one of my report cards.
I was miserable. I was unhappy. And now, I was left without the only cope I had: video games. Did anybody care? No. Nobody cared.
I used to watch cartoons when I was young. I remember enjoying Extreme Ghostbusters.
And I would watch Jackie Chan Adventures, because we only had local TV, and no cable or dish growing up, so I didn't have that fancy Nickelodeon stuff.
And Jackie Chan Adventures was better than the other shit that was on; namely, Pokemon, and capeshit garbage that I hated even back then.
It grew on me. I watched TV when nobody would hang out with me. I would watch TV because nobody wanted to be my friend.
Nobody cared.
I remember I used to pray to God for help. This was back when I genuinely believed in the Christian faith. Well, Lutheran, but who's counting?
But I was ignored. God didn't care; He did not love me. I was a reject. His failure. He would not help me.
Even God was too busy to care.
I remember in junior high, I played card games with a counselor during lunch period. It was embarrassing, but I was forced to go.
I didn't want to be the special kid going off to talk to a counselor during lunch; she would ask about what was going on, and I said nothing.
I didn't want to be there; I wanted to be with the other kids. The normal kids. I wanted to be normal.
But did anybody care? Did anybody listen? No. Nobody cared.
I had a second crush on a girl, when I was in junior high. She was in my art class; and she was pretty. Out of my league. I remember her name, too.
I remember hoping that she would ask me out; I was naive, back then. Sheltered; autistic. I did not realize that was not the way things worked.
I truly believed men and women were equal, and I don't mean I was indoctrinated into feminism. That's just how I used to see everyone: as all the same.
So I logically concluded that, if guys could ask out girls, then girls could, and would, ask out guys.
I was too shy, and lovestruck, and didn't know how to talk to girls back then. I didn't know how to approach; I didn't know what to say.
I hoped she would take the initiative, instead. She didn't. What a surprise.
I felt empty. I just wanted a girlfriend. Didn't have to be her; could be anyone at the school, really. But nobody wanted me.
Nobody cared.
I remember when I was in high school, in my junior and senior years.
I was in a computer programming class each year. It was an entirely new concept to me, at the time.
I remember in my senior year, a classmate was into Legend of Zelda. I liked Legend of Zelda; I was playing A Link to the Past in class, on Game Boy.
He also had that game. I remember asking if he would play Four Swords with me, so I could get the collectibles.
It took some convincing, but eventually, I was allowed, for a few weeks at the end of senior year, to join him and his friends outside during lunch, so we could play.
I never did unlock everything; he was too good, and wouldn't let me get any of the unlockables, even though he had all of them, already.
I tried to make friends with him; I wanted to know if he'd hang out after graduation. He never gave me an answer.
I walked home on my final day in high school, instead of taking the bus. I was reflecting on how much everything had gone wrong in my life.
And did anybody care? No, nobody cared.
I remember spending most of my lunch periods in high school hiding out in the library. It kept the bullies at bay, and I could indulge in a new hobby I had at the time: reading.
I remember I would play online games on the computers, too. Things like Line Rider and Snowball Fight.
I also played games on my graphing calculator. I would play those on my bus rides to and from school, as well, and in class.
My math teachers weren't happy about this; neither were my parents. In fact, my parents were rather unhappy with the fact all my grades were dropping.
I was depressed; I couldn't focus or find the motivation to do my homework. But it's not as if anybody cared.
I remember my third crush. I even still remember her name, as well. We went to high school together.
I remember trying to talk to her, but I couldn't. The words got stuck in my mouth; my tongue dried completely, and felt swollen.
We were in a English/Language Arts class together. The teacher assigned us a speech project; we had to talk about a hobby we liked.
I remember giving two speeches, one in college, and this one in high school; one of them was about drawing mazes. I don't remember which.
I was really big into mazes when I was young. I had several maze books with graphical mazes, and would draw many of my own, among other things.
I made some really detailed mazes.
I remember my crush giving a speech in that class about dancing. I remember a tip about spinning, about fixing your eyes on unmoving objects as you go, so you don't get dizzy.
I daydreamed about us going on a date, and dancing. I thought it was romantic.
I deluded myself into thinking she locked eyes with me during that speech, as she was spinning; I thought she was interested in me.
I was a dumbass, of course. A retarded aspie, who didn't realize what was going on, didn't understand social situations, and had many imagined beliefs of how others really viewed me.
I tried talking to her again, after that; I really wanted to dance with her. I thought maybe I could ask her to a school dance.
My tongue locked up again; I didn't no go to the dance. And not one person ever cared.
I remember seeing my third crush in college, too. We went to the same school; at least, we did, in the first two years. I don't remember seeing her after that.
We crossed paths walking opposite directions across the soccer field on campus. She ignored me; walked right by, but swerved a bit so as to distance herself.
I couldn't get her attention; she wasn't interested. She didn't care.
College was the first time I ever asked a girl out. She was married, and I did not see the ring; it was humiliating.
But it was also exhilarating: I was finally able to do something I did not have the guts to do.
And I continued to try.
You see, I had already been trying for years by that point to overcome my disability, learn how to properly socialize, and get over my fear of talking to girls.
Part of the motivation was from my mother, actually; she would mock me and make fun of me for not being able to read her facial expressions.
Sometimes, in the evenings, she would cover her mouth, or her eyes, and ask me to tell her what emotion she was expressing.
I could never tell.
She would laugh at me every time. I wanted to prove her wrong; I wanted her to feel humiliation for once. So I started to learn about my disability, and tried to learn how to be normal.
I remember I used to be mocked for the way I walk, and run: I held my arms stiff at my sides, you see. I would also hunch over very far when running.
I tried to learn how to swing my arms in cadence with my walk; I watched other students as they walked around.
I wanted to mimic their behavior. So I practiced.
I habitualized it. To this day, I walk normal, and have a normal, light swing to my arms with each step. That's not all I accomplished, but it was one of the earliest.
But did anybody ever notice? Did my mother notice? No. Nobody cared.
I thought college would be a new start for me; the new start that middle school proved not to be.
And so I would continue to think, until graduation. I was finally able to socialize; more accurately, I found people who would tolerate my presence on campus.
I tried to make friends; I tried to establish connections, and tried to coax them into inviting me to hang out.
Sometimes, I would ask them to hang out. They never really gave a straight answer, but I figured it was just too early.
It was slowly dawning on me, though, as my years in college went by: no girls ever said "yes" to my approaches; nobody ever actually wanted to hang out as friends.
I was becoming severely depressed, once again, as I was slowly becoming aware of this horrible truth.
My grades were slipping; so badly, in fact, I was threatened on numerous occasions of being kicked out of the school for having grades too low.
I still managed to graduate, but only barely. And after graduation, I tried to get in contact with all my "friends" from college;
I just wanted to hit them up, ask how things were going. See if they knew of any open positions I could get into.
I was ghosted by every last one of them. Not a single one of my peers from college cared.
I was stuck for many years after working a minimum wage job, paying off my student loans.
Working with a government agency meant to help people with disabilities find employment; they were terrible. They were of no help to me.
One of the recruitment agencies that worked through them had even been investigated by the state for fraud, at the time I was working with them.
Go figure. Only I could have that luck.
And I tried. I tried so hard to land a job. But employers weren't interested; every one asked my GPA.
I never heard from them after that. So I lost hope. I gave up, and stopped trying.
And my mother was overbearing through this time. Watching my every move. So I became a night owl; I stayed up at night, playing video games.
When the sun came up in the morning, I would go to sleep, so I wouldn't have to deal with her.
I'd go to work in the afternoon, just after waking up. I was miserable. I was working a part-time job in IT for part of this time, too; totaling fifty hours a week between the two jobs. I was stressed to the max. I was losing my grip on reality.
But nobody cared.
My mother wouldn't let up on my case. Not until she passed away, in any case.
She died of cancer. I remember feeling relief at not having a helicopter over my head, anymore. But I also felt great loss.
It was around this time I was led on, too, by a girl at work.
All my coworkers were telling me she was interested in me; she was flirting with me. So I asked her for her number.
She was texting at all times of the day. I was getting advice from my coworkers on how to proceed; I did not want to fuck up.
This was still before my black pilled days, you see. And I still had hope; she would crush the last of that, though.
After a week of talking, my coworkers told me I should ask her out. So I did. I still remember it to this day; I remember the tornado siren going off around that time.
It was just a test; it was a bright and sunny day. I remember it vividly, like it only happened a year ago. In fact, it was eight years ago, now.
I popped the question, asked her out on a date; she said she thought we were just friends, and wanted to stay that way.
I remember my stomach sinking painfully into the ground; I gave a half-hearted agreement, and barely payed attention to the rest of the conversation.
I was floored. I felt betrayed. It wasn't just that I was led on by this girl, only to be rejected and friendzoned; I was humiliated, because my coworkers had misled me. They lied to me. And not a single one of them gave a single shit.
This was the hardest time of my life. My mother had passed; I had just had my heart pulled out of my chest, and curb stomped in humiliating fashion.
I was crushed, broken. My life was spiraling.
My depression became incredibly severe. I was, once again, strongly considering the rope.
My anxiety and stress were through the roof each day; oftentimes, I couldn't stop my hands from shaking, and breathing often hurt something fierce.
For the next three months, this girl kept flirting with me, even after establishing the friendzone. It was not good for my mental health; I think she was doing it to torment me.
I had to tell her to stop, and to leave me alone.
I was distressed and distraught. I belonged to an anonymous forum online: Two Cans and String. I no longer have an account, as I was IPbanned for saying "nigger."
But I was speaking to somebody on there about my problems; a normie business student, I believe, who would listen to me complain about my life.
Who would listen to me talk about how shattered I felt, how horrible everything was, and how intense was the pain I felt at being led on and rejected.
As those months dragged on, I came closer and closer to the rope.
It was near the end of summer I finally decided: for the first time (and last time since) in my life, I actually fully intended to do the deed, and embrace my fate.
But he talked me out of it. Somehow, someway. I allowed myself to continue suffering in misery because some random nobody told me not to.
But they didn't really care. Nobody cared.
I remember this was when I was starting to feel bitter and jaded; and I felt resentful toward the girl who had led me on.
I told my feelings to this anonymous business student, and they cut off communication with me. They weren't pleased with where my thoughts were headed.
Said I was becoming "misogynistic."
Frustrated, and with nowhere else to turn, I searched the internet for other lonely souls, to see if I might not be the only one.
And that was how I found the ForeverAlone subreddit.
I lurked for many months on that sub. I was too shy, and too afraid to post. They talked often of the incels, and I would chuckle at these obscene boogeymen who were evil woman-haters.
But, I grew curious over time, and one day, poked my nose into the incel subreddit, yes, the OG incel sub, to see what the monkeys were doing in the zoo.
And I was shocked at what I found; I thought these were evil animals, making shit up, and being horrible just because they were horrible people.
Instead, what I found was brotherhood, and their so-called "hateful ideology" was actually backed up with much scientific data.
I was aghast. I realized I had been spending time with the wrong crowd. I joined the incels that day, and found comfort in a new community.
But still, did anybody care? No. I was nobody, nothing.
To this day, I sit alone, in my room, in my father's house, unable to move out due to lack of resources and social support.
I browse this forum. I engage in my copes. I get personally attacked by JBW copers who do not recognize my legitimate inceldom.
I still deal with the gaslighting, and the bullying. I am a failure in my career, I am a failure at making friends, I am a failure at getting into a relationship and having sex.
I am a loser.
I drink every night, and get high when my depression becomes too much to handle, or I'm struck with my lifelong insomnia.
Tonight it's depression.
I used to be on the other side of the fence, in a desperate bid to cling to what little hope I managed to sustain throughout the beginning of my life, up until eight years ago.
Now, I am fully black pilled, but also fully and severely depressed, and with no hope nor ambition. I see myself sinking, toward an inescapable event horizon;
With each passing day, I lose more and more energy, and motivation to do any work, or try anything in my life.
Why bother? Every time I've tried at anything in my life, I've only ever failed, and in humiliating fashion, no less.
I cannot succeed. The universe is set against me. That much is clear to me, now.
I am a lonely man.
I am a suffering man.
I am a broken man.
And the greatest joke of all? NOBODY CARES.
