Well, he is an incel by definition. So yeah of course he does. It seems he has some sort of nerve and spinal issues that prevent him from having sex or getting it up? In combination with OCD, so basically his body is literally preventing him from living a normal life. Honestly I understand his stance here and can sympathize. Life without any sex, caused by already painful factors outside of your control, is a rough deal. Sexual satisfaction is one of the driving forces of people, it's not really feasible to just "let it go".
I agree it's overrated, I'm not a virgin. But for someone without a reference point not being able to lose their virginity, or even just have healthy sex, because of chronic pain and mental illness must be soul crushing.
By the time I was 18 years old, OCD replaced my true identity with itself. Because intellect serves identity, my intelligence served this false master. It used symmetry to feel safe. How? Because symmetry = beauty = order = control = safety. My broken brain had an overactive fear system, like a motion sensor that triggers from the wind. OCD locked my true self away in a prison for 13 years. Then, my intellect built, brick by brick, a fortress around myself. Ironically, in its attempt to keep me safe from irrational and imagined threats, it killed both itself and my true self. Why? Because it denied my true self, which would have pursued a positive delta in life, aka growth. I would've been pro-social and been on tons of dates. Gone to events, worked hard, played hard, and banged hard. Because of this, the underlying insidious degenerative disc disease and full body acne would've needed to be addressed promptly. I would've gotten proper negative feedback by life and people, and that would incentivize me to fix the issues. Instead, OCD turned me into a rotting recluse living only in low-light and neurosis. So, my degenerative disc disease became permanent nerve damage and pain, and my acne is full body scarring.
Only after my second back surgery have I learned who I was really supposed to be. A pro-social, charismatic, passionate lover, leader, risk-taker, womanizer, serial dater, and on and on. But instead, the
following happened. I was excluded from humanity and lived in double solitary confinement for 13 years. I can imagine the exhilaration and madness of life. How swelling and magical it could've been.
It started to hit me around 27—that slow, growing realization that I wanted the exact opposite of what my life had become. But by then, it was already too late. My nerve was irrecoverable, though I didn't know it yet. I spent the next three years fully immersed, pouring every ounce of focus and intellect into trying to fix it. The culmination of all that effort was a somewhat experimental implant. It didn't work.
In late 2021, I made myself a promise: if I couldn't save myself from the nerve pain—if I couldn't meet even the bare minimum requirements for a livable life—then I would end it. Not out of impulse, but as the only way to spare myself from endless suffering.
Things kept getting worse. After the failed implant, life collapsed in on me. The full weight of a wasted existence crushed me to pulp—seized my mind and hasn't let go. That was seven months ago. Since then, the catastrophe of waste—and the sheer force of the craving—have driven me to the edge of delirium. I nearly slipped into it again last night, but somehow, I fought it off.
I couldn't see it when it was happening. I thought I was the OCD. Time and time again my behaviors, preferences, aesthetics reinforced that I was desirous of what OCD wanted. But, 13 years later, I see that the real me was imprisoned. So deeply that I didn't even feel lust for the opposite sex, when all along, I was supposed to be Casanova. This goes to show, who you really are, may be completely covered up by your OCD. You may even be the opposite of whom you think you are, like I was.
Somehow you must dispel yourself and find whom was locked away long ago. Who you would be without fear. There is another attitude, one that my OCD would've hated. I quote, "it relaxes by changing". My OCD loved stasis, because it was control and thus safety, so no fear. But that attitude denies life. When you deny life, life denies you, trust me, I know this to the maximum extent. One must relax by changing. What does this mean? Do not cling to static forms of beauty. Find pleasure in the flux. Your nervous system can be even relaxed amidst strife and change, how beautiful would that be!
I write this 4 weeks before the date of my medically assisted rational suicide.