Being an antisocial incel feels like being one of those men who fought for a lie, then came back home to find a society that didn't accept them any more. Too damaged. We are the new generation of the damaged and our great war was depression and growing in isolation. Society doesn't want us and we don't want anything from it. We will die alone and forgotten, without making an impact on the world. And that's alright.

Were you expecting anything else? A punchline? Maybe a sort of redeeming quality or moral of the story? No, there isn't one. Life means nothing. It doesn't have to mean anything. Just wanted to get it out of my chest I guess. Cheers.