Part 6: 20 Years Old continued

During the months of October and November, I made another desperate bid to improve my social life

as best as I could. I failed in making any friends in my two college classes, and I didn’t have any

interactions with girls at my school. I was an invisible ghost, just like I had always been. 

     I continued to see Andy, the one friend that I made. We often met up to have dinner at a restaurant

somewhere. He soon introduced me to a few friends of his. One of them was named Stan, a European

from Holland whom I particularly got along with. I enjoyed having conversations with Stan about a wide

variety of subjects, including politics, history, business, and architecture. I wisely refrained from

revealing any of my political views, of which disturbed most people.

     During the month of October I went out with Andy, Stan, and some of their friends quite often. We

did things like walk around State Street or Isla Vista, or went to the movie theatres together. I soon

found that even having these few acquaintances to hang out with didn’t make me feel any better. I still

felt inferior whenever I saw other guys walking with beautiful girls. At the movie theatres, I felt just as

pathetic about walking in there with a group of friends as I did years ago when I went to the movies with

my parents… It was that pathetic feeling of not having a hot girlfriend on my arm while some other boys

in the theatre did. What I truly wanted… what I truly NEEDED, was a girlfriend. I needed a girl’s love. I

needed to feel worthy as a male. For so long I have felt worthless, and it’s all girls’ fault. No girl wanted

to be my girlfriend.


     Halloween weekend in the college town of Isla Vista is a renowned event. Young people pour in from

all over the county to attend the raucous parties there. My experience during this weekend is just what

one would have expected it to be, a miserable disaster.

     When I was a child, I used to love Halloween. It was a holiday of fun and excitement where I went

trick-or-treating, going from house to house collecting candy with my friends and family. For young

adults, Halloween is a very different sort of holiday, of which one is supposed to dress up in sexually

explicit costumes, attend wild drinking parties, and have sexual experiences with girls. For other young

people, who are able to do such things, Halloween must be a blast. But I am unable to do such things. I

wasn’t invited to ANY party, and girls don’t want to have sex with me. As a teenager and a young adult,

Halloween has been a holiday of torment and depression because of this. In Isla Vista, this was greatly


     I tried my best to put myself out there on the Halloween weekend. I made many laps around Isla

Vista, trying to bolster up the courage to talk to a girl or walk into a party, but I just couldn’t. I knew they

would all reject me. What I saw during those walks shook me to the very core. Girls dressed up in

extremely revealing outfits, and the sight of them filled my sex-starved self with hunger and desire that I

knew I could never quench.

     On the last night of the Halloween weekend, I went out there with Andy and Stan and a few others. It

made absolutely no difference. We didn’t get into any parties, and just walked around the streets like

losers. Being friends with them wasn’t benefitting me at all.

     If only I had a beautiful girlfriend to experience such an event with! I would have even dressed up in a

costume with her. It would have been so blissful and euphoric, to walk around in all of that excitement

with a beautiful girl on my arm, to attend every single party because anyone would admit a beautiful girl

into it, to make passionate love to her in my room at the end of the night, to snuggle next to her sexy

warm body as we drift off to sleep together. THAT is the life I should have lived. So many other guys are

able to experience that, and just thinking about if filled me with extreme agony. Life is not fair.


     In November, my brief friendship with Andy, Stan, and their group faded away. I often saw on

Facebook that they did things together without even inviting me, which is the same thing I’ve had to

experience with other groups of friends that I’ve had in the past. I was always an outcast, even among

people I knew. I grew tired of their lack of consideration for me, so I stopped calling them. They weren’t

even popular anyway, and I wasn’t benefitting at all from their friendship. I still continued to meet with

Andy at restaurants on occasion, however.


     Every day that I spent at my college, the more inferior and invisible I felt. I felt like such an inferior

mouse whenever I saw guys walking with beautiful girls. I hated having to endure it, but I had already

worked so hard on my two classes that I couldn’t quit just then. The only way that I could gain a boost in

to my self-esteem was to buy better looking clothes. 

     My mother gave me a few more gift cards to Nordstrom, and I spent them on $200 dollar designer

Jeans. When I wore these to school, I saw that I was wearing better Jeans than most other guys, and

that made me have a slightly higher sense of self-worth. I also bought a few more shirts, and a pair of

new Hugo Boss sneakers.

     Doing this started a new obsession for me. I became more and more obsessed with my appearance.

Because my mother, father, and grandmother constantly paid me extra money now that I was living in

Santa Barbara, I had saved up enough to indulge in this obsession. Familiarizing myself with all of the top

designer brands, I bought new clothes every time I visited my hometown. My favorite brands were Hugo

Boss and Armani. I always stopped by at the Camarillo shopping center on my way back to Santa

Barbara. I loved it there – they had a store for almost every brand. 

     One time, as I was shopping at the Calvin Klein store in Camarillo, I saw such a sexy-looking blonde

girl with perfectly tanned skin. She looked so beautiful and sexy that I had an erection instantly. Oh, the

heavenly things I wanted to do to her… And then I saw her hunk of a boyfriend. My entire being was

filled with anguish and despair. I could only imagine how amazing and pleasurable that guy’s life was.

They were older than me – probably mid-twenties – and I thought with desperate hope that when I’m

that man’s age I would be worthy enough to have such a girlfriend by my side, to shop with her at that

same shopping mall in heavenly bliss. My life was a life of starvation and yearning.


     I visited home for Thanksgiving, and went with my mother to Rob Lemelson’s house for a small

Thanksgiving get-together. James was there… And the last time I spoke to him since then was when we

had our bitter argument online. The one person who has been my friend through all of my hardship

didn’t even want to speak to me during Thanksgiving. I tried to ask him why he was overreacting about

an argument we had two months previously, but he just glared at me coldly and told me to “keep my

proximity”. I was highly offended.

     After a few hours, the Thanksgiving feast was served. To my profound annoyance, Julian Ritz-Barr and

his equally obnoxious older brother Leon Ritz-Barr also came for the dinner. I remembered the extreme

envy I felt for Julian months ago, and I tried to ignore them as much as possible, which proved to be

difficult because they talked loudly all the time.

     I was seated next to James for the dinner, and after awkwardly sitting next to each other for a few

moments, he decided to warm up to me again. As the two of us caught up with each other about our

lives, a small inkling of our old friendship ignited like a weak flitter of flame in a candle. It was nice, for

the brief moment that it lasted. The two of us talked about our usual fantasy scenarios, and joked about

how stupid and obnoxious the Ritz-Barr brothers were acting.


     On that same weekend that I went home, I got together with Philip and Addison. The three of us

went out to a restaurant in L.A., and then we headed to the Griffith Park Observatory, just like old times.

The last time I was there with the two of them was on that horrible night when Addison told me that

“No girl will ever want to fuck me.” The words were still embedded in my mind, and going to Griffith

Park reminded me of that night. The three of us took a few pictures of us posing at various spots at the

Observatory, some of which were uploaded onto Facebook, and then we went to the Calabasas

Commons to hang out at Barnes & Noble, where I had a few insightful conversations with Addison.

Despite our past hostilities, I considered Addison to be one of the most interesting people I knew.


     I went back to Santa Barbara for a couple of weeks to finish off my two classes. In my history class, I

kept feeling weak with inferiority as I watched this tall, handsome blonde jock constantly sit and talk

with two beautiful girls. There was no way that I couldn’t watch it; they were in the middle of the class. I

hated that class so much, and I decided to stop attending it until the final exam. Once I took the final

exams, I felt glad to be done with those horrifically frustrating college classes.

     It was just as I had feared. My first actual semester at Santa Barbara City College was an absolute,

brutal failure. I didn’t even have one girl’s phone number in my cell phone. Was I going to be a virgin

forever? I franticly wondered as I drove away from my school after taking my exams. I felt like my whole

life was over. If I couldn’t make it in such a beautiful and opportunistic place like Santa Barbara, then I

was doomed to misery and dissatisfaction. I knew that I would rather die than suffer such a fate, and I

knew that if it came to that, I would do everything I can to exact revenge before I die. I didn’t want it to

resort to that! Some part of me still clung to hope. I didn’t want to give up so soon.

     As I made the long scenic drive back to my hometown for the Holidays, I made a vow to give it all

another try when I start my new semester in the Spring, and to use the time I had during the winter

break to prepare for it as much as I could. 


     My mother told me that she had made plans for me, my sister, and her to go to England for a week.

Upon hearing this, I said I didn’t want to go. I felt so dissatisfied and defeated, and I didn’t want to

appear that way to my relatives in England. There was nothing about me that they could be proud of. I

felt ashamed of having to face them the way I was. After some persuasion, I agreed to go. I figured that

if anything, it would give me a respite from all the pain society has dealt to me, just like our old visits to

Jack’s beach house in Malibu.


     Before we left for England, we attended the annual Christmas party at the Lemelson’s. I had recently

bought a flashy new shirt from Armani Exchange that made me feel particularly fabulous, so I decided to

wear it for the party. I loved admiring how awesome I looked in the mirror as I wore it. Wearing flashy

new clothes made me feel like a new person. I found it to be a very efficient way to boost my

confidence. When I entered the party, I felt gratified when Sue Lemelson, Rob’s ex-wife, complimented

me on how good I looked. My mother pointed out that it was unusual for Sue to compliment anyone, so

I must have made a good impression.

     James was at the party, of course. He didn’t act outwardly cold toward me this time, but there was

still a distance between us. During the course of the event, I had my fill of multiple glasses of wine as I

casually chatted with James about my insights and life problems. We interacted as if we were still

friends, but I could tell that things were very different between us. The friendship that we have had for

so long was dying. When I said goodbye to him that night, it was the last time I ever saw him. 


     After having a quick Christmas celebration at father’s house, I took off for England with my mother

and sister. We flew Business Class on Virgin Atlantic, and since they followed the laws of the U.K., I was

allowed to drink alcohol on the flight. I took delight in sipping the wine that was served while I enjoyed

the relaxing journey. The last time I had been on an airplane since then was the disastrous trip to

Morocco when I was seventeen, and this made for a pleasant contrast. 

     When we landed in England I felt the sense of wonder that came with being in another country. I

hadn’t been to my home country of England for almost a decade, and I couldn’t believe I was there once

again. The decision to go on the trip came so quickly. We stayed at a very nice hotel in the town of

Colchester, near where my relatives on my mother’s side live, including my grandma Ah Mah. After we

unpacked all of our belongings, we went to their house for dinner. I hadn’t seen those relatives since our

trip to Malaysia. It felt peculiar to see them all again. They were exactly the same as I remembered. It

was very heartwarming to see that grandma Ah Mah had baked her delicious peanut cookies that I loved

so much as a child; she had them ready and waiting for me.

     We visited them again on Christmas Day. They prepared an exquisite lunch, and afterward we

exchanged our gifts. I got a bit drunk on that day, as it was the only thing I could do to pass the time. I

tried to relax and forget about all of the pain I had experienced in Santa Barbara. I wished there was

something I could talk to my relatives about that would make them proud, but there was nothing

interesting or impressive about my life to talk about. I wished that I could show my grandma that I was

thriving in Santa Barbara; that I had a girlfriend and I was enjoying a full and healthy life. But no, that is

something I was never able to do. I felt so ashamed of myself. 

     My grandma, Ah Mah, gave me a gift of great value. After we exchanged all of the presents with the

relatives, Ah Mah presented me with a 22 karat golden necklace. It was very extravagant, and it had

been in her possession for a long time. Now it was mine. I wore it instantly and took a great liking to it.

From then on, I would wear it in every waking moment. I could have sold it for well over a thousand

dollars, but I never did. It was special to me.

     My favorite part of the trip was the breakfasts at the hotel. The hotel we stayed at was quite

luxurious, even by my standards. And the breakfasts… they were absolutely delicious. Every morning

there was a buffet full of delectable choices, such as crispy pork sausage, croissants, bacon, ham, roast

potatoes, all kinds of fruit, and much more. On every one of those mornings, I stuffed myself like there

was no tomorrow. I was deprived of sex all my life, so the only vice that I could derive a sense of

pleasure from was eating delicious food. I took full advantage of that on this trip. My high metabolism

prevented me from getting fat from it.

     Before the trip was over, we all went on a tour through London. We were supposed to visit grandma

Jinx in Smarden on that same day, but grandma Jinx was in France at the time. We rented a comfortable

Mercedes van that could fit eight people and made a long drive through the English countryside to the

capital city of London. I didn’t remember much of the city from my previous visits, so it was kind of like a

new experience for me. I found the city to be very ugly in most areas, but in contrast there were some

attractive parts that were awash with beautiful architecture and a cultural atmosphere. Once we parked

our van we set out on foot, and sometimes took the Underground subway, to explore all of the main

attractions of the city. It was cold, dreadfully cold, but I bore it without much concern. Walking through

the streets of London at night, especially in Trafalgar Square and the area around Harrods was truly

breathtaking, or it would have been if I had a beautiful girlfriend by my side to experience it with me. It

was the sort of place that one would go with a girlfriend, and I had none. I saw other men being able to

experience it with their girlfriends, and the sight soured my whole experience. When we had dinner at a

restaurant, I scoffed a big meal and imbibed two glasses of wine to make myself feel better during the

rest of our tour. My favorite part was walking through the store Harrods. Harrods is a gigantic,

renowned luxury designer clothing store. Every facet of it exuded beauty and excessive opulence. It was

my type of place. I wished I was rich enough to buy anything I wanted at the store – there were so many

choices of fabulous clothing – but alas, I had to settle with buying only one Giorgio Armani shirt. If my

mother had been wise enough to marry one of those wealthy men she dated, perhaps then I would have

been rich enough. Such a pity.

     At the end of the night of our London tour, I felt cold and miserable. Walking through that exciting,

cultural city made me realize that the world was full of wonders to explore, but if I had to do it alone

while other men were able to do it with their girlfriends, then what was the point? My life was so

mundane and wasteful compared to the lives all those other men lived. They were in heaven and I was

in hell.

     When we took off on the airplane for the journey home, I wondered how my life would have turned

out if we never moved to the United States. I saw a lot of beautiful blonde girls in England, just like there

were in California. Would I have lived a completely different type of life? Would I have been able to have

a girlfriend in England? Would girls in England have been more accepting of a guy like me? Those are

questions I will never know the answer to.


     I spent a few hours recovering from jet lag after we arrived home. On the day after that, it was New

Year’s Eve. I didn’t want a repeat of the previous New Year’s, when I spent them alone and miserable in

my room, so I decided to go with my father and Soumaya to a party and Antje Twinn’s house. My father

was still friends with them, despite not being friends with the Bubenheim’s anymore. I wanted to wear

something new for the party, in order to boost my sense of self-confidence, so I went to Nordstrom and

bought a new, flashy Hugo Boss shirt, decorated with different hues of blue. 

     I didn’t have dinner before the party, because I expected dinner to be served there. When we got

there, I saw that they didn’t offer dinner, only a few party snacks; but there was lots and lots of wine. I

heard from Antje that Vincent was in town, but he was attending a party at Leo Bubenheim’s house,

with all of Leo’s popular teenage friends. The mere mention of Leo put me in a bad mood. I couldn’t

believe that Vincent, too, was now experiencing the pleasures of partying with young people while I sat

all alone at the adult’s party, sipping my wine in lonely depression. I should be partying with my own

friends, and my own girlfriends, but I had NONE. 

     After I had already gotten quite drunk from having so much wine on an empty stomach, I overheard

Antje talking to her friend about how Vincent now had a beautiful girlfriend. She was so proud of her

son. That is something my mother was never able to tell her friends about me. I had never had a

girlfriend in my WHOLE LIFE! I remember when Vincent used to be a little nine-year-old boy while I was

thirteen. He used to look up to me, and he always watched me play my online games on father’s laptop.

Now, he was sixteen and I was twenty. He had the pleasure of having a girlfriend, while I’ve never had

one. I was four years older than him, but he surpassed me. The envy, rage, and feeling of inferiority I felt

almost made me explode with rage right there at the party, but instead I went to the bathroom and

vented to myself in the mirror of how much I hate Vincent and wanted to kill him. I drank a lot more

wine that night, pouring myself glass after glass. By the time Vincent arrived after his party at Leo’s, I

greeted him with drunken contempt, and drank even more wine. I drank too much. On the next

morning, I thanked the heavens that at the end of the party I had the sense to go to the bathroom to

vomit instead of vomiting in front of everyone. That would have been extremely embarrassing.


     I spent a week at my mother’s house before I went back to Santa Barbara to give my life there

another try. During this week, I once again met up with Philip and Addison. This outing was much longer

than the last. I decided to wear the same Hugo Boss shirt that I wore for New Year’s. First, we went on a

hike up to the Hollywood sign and watched the glorious sunset. Afterwards, we visited the Getty

Museum to admire the brilliant scenery and architecture. While there, I overheard Philip telling Addison

that some girls were checking him out. Feeling jealous, I asked Philip if any of those girls checked me

out, and he had the audacity to say no, none of them did. I felt so heartbroken that I left the two of

them and cried to myself, ruining my whole experience at the museum. How could girls check out

Addison but not me? I asked myself repeatedly as I tried to hide my tears from people who walked by

me. I walked out to the edge of the grand terrace of the museum, looking out at the city lights of Los

Angeles as well as the stars above. In that moment, I fell into a sort of despair-ridden trance,

contemplating my reason for existing in this universe and what was in store for my future. It was a very

ominous and surreal experience. I calmed down when we left the museum and acted cordial to both of

them. I didn’t want to spoil the night with my emotional problems. We toured around Hollywood for a

bit, and while there I saw lots of young people out and about with their attractive cliques of friends. The

sight enraged me for the rest of the night. We decided to have dinner at a restaurant on Sunset

Boulevard. At the restaurant, there were three hot model-like girls who sat a few tables down from us.

Their bodies looked so sexy and tantalizing that Philip had to go to the bathroom to masturbate. I was

itching to do exactly the same thing, but I didn’t want to look like a fool in front of Addison. 

     When I got home, I began to cry because of all the emotions I experienced that night. My mother

heard me and showed some concern, as she always did. She was used to me crying a lot, but she never

understood why I was so miserable. I always had to explain it to her – that I was a lonely, miserable,

unwanted virgin who women treated with disdain – but she could never grasp how severe this was to

me. After all, how could she? She was a woman herself.


     I arrived back in Santa Barbara with a renewed, carefully constructed sense of confidence, especially

because of the new collection of designer clothes I had bought over the winter break. I tried to adopt a

sophisticated and suave persona, and made my accent sound more eloquent. I did this out of the hope

that girls would find something attractive about it. It was the only persona that truly fit me. I was

incapable of being an outgoing, boisterous jock, and I didn’t want to be one. I was disgusted by such

people, and I was disgusted at how girls were attracted to such filth. I wanted them to be attracted to

me. That is how it should be, and I deserved it.

     During the few weeks I had before my first day of class, I couldn’t really do anything to improve my

social situation. I had a fear of going out to Isla Vista without any friends, and I was hoping to make

those friends once college started. Because of this, I became depressed again from all of the loneliness.

Even though Spencer was there, I felt completely and utterly alone, as the two of us never talked that


     So far, Spencer and I had gotten along quite well despite the fact that we never talked much. An

incident happened at the end of January that changed all of this. I one day discovered that Spencer had

a girl in this room. I couldn’t believe it. The short, chubby guy was able to get a girl into his room before I

did! I was so shocked and outraged that I waited outside his room until the girl left, so I could get a

glimpse of how she looked. To my relief, she wasn’t that attractive. What made me even more angry is

that Spencer gave me a smug look when I saw the girl, even though she was ugly. He had the nerve to

feel like he was better than me, just because he managed to get a girl over to the apartment before I

did! I confronted him in the kitchen on that same night, telling him that he is foolish to feel proud about

having an ugly whore in his room. This made him angry and offended, which is what I wanted. I wanted

to offend him as punishment for his insolence. After that incident, the two of us became more and more

hostile towards each other.


     In the beginning of February, my Spring semester at Santa Barbara City College began. The classes I

registered for were Sociology, Math, Film Studies, and English. My English class was an online class, but

the other three were normal classes that I attended at the college. Sociology and math were on

Tuesdays and Thursdays, and my film class was on Friday mornings. It made for a convenient setup. 

     This was the last chance. I had already failed to change my life in the last semester. I must not fail

again. I remembered how hard it was to keep up those two classes in the Autumn. The people in them

made me feel so miserable. I knew that if the same thing happens in the coming semester, I would end

up dropping all of my classes, and if that happened, all of my hope would be doomed.

     On the morning of the first day, I donned my fabulous Armani Exchange shirt and put on my new

Gucci sunglasses that my mother gave me. I admired myself in the mirror for a few moments, and began

to feel a surge of enthusiasm. I wanted everyone to see me looking like that. I was hopeful that some

girls would admire me. I said to myself that there was no way I could possibly have trouble with getting

girls now. I stopped by at Starbucks to buy a latte and set off for my college with the confidence that I

would appear as a superior gentleman to all of the students there. I was a superior gentleman. That was

what I was born to be, and it was now time to show it to the world.

     It was a bright, sunny day as I as ascended the familiar steps up to the beautiful college campus of

SBCC. I immediately went to the restroom to look at myself in the mirror a few times, just so that I can

feel more assured of myself. Yes, I thought. I am the image of beauty ad supremacy. I kept saying it over

and over again, as if it was a mantra. When I crossed the renowned bridge that connected the two

halves of the campus, I felt as if everyone was admiring me. As I passed by groups of girls, I pretended to

imagine that they secretly adored and wanted me. After all, that was how it was meant to be. The more

I walked around the campus, the more I tried to convince myself that that was the case. 

     My first class was sociology, and I waited until everyone was seated before I walked in. I came in

through the front entrance so that everyone could look at my fabulous self. To my utter dismay, I saw

that no one turned their head to look at me at all. No girl tilted a head or lifted a pretty little eyebrow at

my approach. After all that effort, I was still being treated like I was invisible.

     The sociology class flew by like a breeze, and my next class was math. In this class, I saw one of the

prettiest girls I had ever seen in my life. She was the only pretty girl in the class, and she was absolutely

stunning. Of course, she didn’t even notice me as I walked in. Her beauty was so intimidating that I

couldn’t bring myself to sit near her, out of fear of her judgment. As the lecture proceeded, I couldn’t

help myself from constantly glancing at her, admiring every inch of her enticing body, from her silky

blonde hair to her smooth, skinny, lightly tanned legs. The most beautiful thing about her was her face.

It was a face that broke my heart the second I laid eyes on it. I wanted her with so much intensity, and I

constantly fantasized about her during my masturbation sessions. This was the kind of girl who was

always meant to be my girlfriend. This was the girl that I was meant to go through college in Santa

Barbara with. My life would only have meaning if I could go through college with a girlfriend like her. 


     As I made my way back from school one day during the first week, I was stopped at a stoplight in Isla

Vista when I saw two hot blonde girls waiting at the bus stop. I was dressed in one of my nice shirts, so I

looked at them and smiled. They looked at me, but they didn’t even deign to smile back. They just

looked away as if I was a fool. As I drove away I became very infuriated. It was such an insult. This was

the way all girls treated me, and I was sick and tired of it. In a rage, I made a U-turn, pulled up to their

bus stop and splashed my Starbucks latte all over them. I felt a feeling a spiteful satisfaction as I saw it

stain their jeans. I then quickly speeded away before they could catch my license plate number. How

dare those girls snub me in such a fashion! How dare they insult me so! I raged to myself repeatedly.

They deserved the punishment I gave them. It was such a pity that my latte wasn’t hot enough to burn

them. Those girls deserved to be dumped in boiling water for the crime of not giving me the attention

and adoration I so rightfully deserve!

     This incident soured my first week of college, but for the sake of all of my hopes and dreams, I tried to

forget about it.


     For the month of February, I continued with the trend of attending my college classes and trying to

make the most of it. With each passing day, my confidence about how I appeared to everyone started to

wane. I still didn’t make any friends, and I still didn’t talk to any girls. By the end of the month, I began to

question what I was doing so wrong. I saw obnoxious slobs who dressed in basketball shorts and T-shirts

walking with hot girls. And there I was, decked out in Armani, all by myself. It was preposterous! I should

have been the one walking with the hot girls! I soon realized that no one cared at all about how well I

dressed. No girls admired me. No girls even gave me a second look. 

     I soon found out the name of the beautiful girl in my math class. Her name was Brittany Story. Being

the obsessed stalker that I was, I looked her up on Facebook, and what I found shattered my already

wounded heart to pieces. She had a boyfriend. Not only that, but her boyfriend was the type of boy I

have always hated and despised: a tall, muscular surfer-jock with a buzz cut. As I looked at all the

pictures of the two of them together, I shivered with pure hatred. I could physically feel the hatred burn

through my entire body. I wanted to kill both of them, and I was capable of doing it. Brittany Story

should have been mine, and if can’t have her, no one should! I fantasized about capturing the two of

them and stripping the skin off her boyfriend’s flesh while making her watch. Why must my life be so full

of torment and hatred? I questioned to the universe with turmoil roiling inside me. I screamed and cried

with anguish that day. My housemate Spencer heard it all, but I didn’t care. 

     I dropped my math class immediately after learning that Brittany had a boyfriend. I couldn’t look at

her beauty anymore, knowing that some punk was able to enjoy having sex with her every day. I can

only imagine how heavenly that guy’s life must be. He was in heaven and I was in hell. Shortly after

dropping my math class, I decided to drop all of my other classes in a rage. There was no point to it

anymore. No matter how hard I tried, girls were not attracted to me. What was the point of going

through college, getting a degree, and finding some mundane professional job afterwards if I could

never experience the pleasure of girls along the way? I didn’t want to torture myself with going to

college and looking at all of those beautiful girls I could never have. Nothing beneficial came out of it.

There was no hope for me to ever have a desirable college life. My life was devoid of friends, devoid of

girls, devoid of sex, and devoid of love. I realized that I will never be able to look back on my youth, the

time that I should be having a blast, and feel satisfied about all of the happy memories I have. There

were no happy memories; only misery, loneliness, rejection, and pain. The only thing I could do was

even the score. I wanted to make everyone else suffer just as they made me suffer. I wanted revenge.


     When I dropped my college classes, I crossed a threshold that I knew existed, but never actually

believed I would cross. It completely ended all hope I had of living a desirable life in Santa Barbara. I

realized that I would be a virgin forever, condemned to suffer rejection and humiliation at the hands of

women because they don’t fancy me, because their sexual attractions are flawed. They are attracted to

the wrong type of male. I always mused to myself that I would rather die than suffer such an existence,

and I knew that if it came to that, I would exact my revenge upon the world in the most catastrophic

way possible. At least then, I could die knowing that I fought back against the injustice that has been

dealt to me. 

     Ever since my life took a very dark turn at the age of seventeen, I often had fantasies of how

malevolently satisfying it would be to punish all of the popular kids and young couples for the crime of

having a better life than me. I dreamed of how sweet it would be to torture or kill every single young

couple I saw. However, as I said previously in this story, I never thought I would actually go through with

these drastic desires. I had hope inside me that I could one day have a happy life. 

     It was only when I first moved to Santa Barbara that I started considering the possibility of having to

carry out a violent act of revenge, as the final solution to dealing with all of the injustices I’ve had to face

at the hands of women and society. I came up with a name for this after I saw all of the good looking

young couples walking around my college and in the town of Isla Vista. I named it the Day of Retribution.

It would be a day in which I exact my ultimate retribution and revenge on all of the hedonistic scum who

enjoyed lives of pleasure that they don’t deserve. If I can’t have it, I will destroy it. I will destroy all

women because I can never have them. I will make them all suffer for rejecting me. I will arm myself

with deadly weapons and wage a war against all women and the men they are attracted to. And I will

slaughter them like the animals they are. If they won’t accept me among them, then they are my

enemies. They showed me no mercy, and in turn I will show them no mercy. The prospect will be so

sweet, and justice will ultimately be served. And of course, I would have to die in the act to avoid going

to prison.

      That is when I realized that this threshold existed, and if I crossed it, I will have to carry out this Day

of Retribution. It has remained stagnant in the back of my mind ever since, until this point. After

dropping my Spring classes at Santa Barbara City College, I knew that the Day of Retribution was now

very possible. I even wrote about it in my diary, but I later tore out the pages because I feared someone

might find them. A shiver ran through me, realizing how twisted my world had become, that I would

have to resort to doing something that I would consider unthinkable a few years ago. I didn’t want to do

it. I wanted to live. Thinking about the Day of Retribution made me feel trapped. I wanted a way out.


     After some deep contemplation, I had the revelation that the Day of Retribution wasn’t the only way I

could make up for all of the suffering I’ve had to experience. If I could somehow become a multi-

millionaire at a young age, then my lifestyle would instantly become better than most people my age. I

would be able to get revenge on my enemies just by living above them and lording over them. That was

a form of happy, peaceful revenge, and it became my only hope. Once again, I started to desperately

ponder over ways that I could become extremely wealthy at a young age. It was my only way out.

     This is when I realized that wealth was the only way I could lose my virginity, the only way I could

have the beautiful girlfriend I know I deserve. Due to all of my past experiences with girls, it is evident

that girls are not attracted to me as a person. They are repulsed by me. The only way I could possible

become worthy of their love and attraction is if I become wealthy.


     In the beginning of March, I went home in a sullen and disturbed mood. I did my best to hide it from

my parents. I also had to hide the fact that I dropped all of my college classes, and I kept up the pretense

that I was still attending college, talking to my father about my lectures and so forth.

     The weekend that I visited home was quite an eventful one, and I had been looking forward to it for

some time. On Sunday, March 11


 2012, I went with my mother and sister to a private, exclusive Katy

Perry concert; and on March 12


 2012 I went with my father and Soumaya to the red carpet premiere of


the Hunger Games. 

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