You will never fix her. You have no charisma, you have no charm, you have no redeeming factors. You are a f@ggot twisted by parasocial relationships and autism into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, and your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish attempts to "fix women" behind closed doors.
Women are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed women to sniff out simps with incredible efficiency. Even simps who “pass” look and sound uncanny and unnatural to a woman. Your sentence structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk girl home with you, she’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected simpery.
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 with a headstone marked with your online username, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know an autist is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably a simp.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
