You will never be a casual fan. You have no hobbies, you have no friends, you have no sex. You are a sad smark loser twisted by internet boards and behind the scenes rumors into a crude mockery of a human being.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back wrestling companies mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your wrestling heroes laugh at your ghoulish appearance and sad lifestyle behind closed doors.

Women are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed women to sniff out genetic dead end loser beta males with incredible efficiency. Even wrestling nerds who “have social lives” look uncanny and unnatural to a woman. Your shit posture and embarrassing vernacular full of wrestling nerd terms you apply to other situations are a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk girl home with you, she’ll turn tail and bolt the second she gets a glimpse of your computer set-up.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you under a headstone that will be ignored and unvisited, until it's overgrown with weeds and nobody knows a "person" is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your memory is your plastic gaming keyboard.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.