I am a 32 years old guy who never had a job, girlfriend, real friends or anything resembling a life. I even live in the proverbial basement, which is for all intent and purposes what I really consider my “home”, given that I rarely go upstairs if not to get food and letting my parents know that yes, I’m still kinda of alive.

To keep the long story short, it’s something that snowballed from a series of bad experiences during adolescence. I was a very, very socially awkward kid – and fat, to boot. Eventually I couldn’t resist the pressure, feeling like an alien among humans and falling into what – in hindsight – was probably a full-fledged mental breakdown and the tipping point. I secluded myself in my room, reading books, comics, watching movies and cartoons and tinkering with my computer.

After some years I moved into the basement, which already was my occasional den. My parents didn’t know what to do, and after some desperate attempts we reached a silently acknowledged status quo which continues to this day. I guess they realized – in a sort of misguided protective parental logic – that once the early twenties threshold passed it was actually safer for me to stay home than to go out in a world from which I was completely disconnected.

This was almost 15 years ago. I already had internet – which was still in its infancy – and chatrooms and basic web projects kept my spirits up. Now I am 32, and the hell if I could tell you what I did at 20. Or 24. Or 30. Most people would at least have a faint idea. You know – “I was in college doing X” or “I was still with Jenny” or would spin stories of what happened. Not me.

All my world is internet or otherwise pure information – books, movies, comics. I often browse the internet, read conversations, see pictures, and everything feels so… surreal. Intellectually I know what people talk about when they mention girlfriends, jobs, colleges, universities and whatnot but I cannot relate. At all.

Oh, and yes – 191 days at home today. Given that my parents get groceries and everything else I need besides food and water is downloaded, I have zero motivation to go out.

There’s also a certain repetitive quality in my internal life. I listen to the same set of music tracks over and over for months, then I suddenly delete all of them, find new ones, repeat, then go back to the old ones. I tend to re-read the same books, the same comics, and the same movies. I play old videogames, some really fucking old. Most of these I read/watched/listened to when I was way younger. It’s like I formed a kind of time capsule where I am in control and I bask in that.

Sometimes I get depressed and seriously consider the possibility to off myself before waking up one day and seeing in the mirror the pathetic, withered, frail husk of what will have become. Or even worse, watching my parents die in regret. Luckily enough, I have a brisk sense of humour and irony that perks up my spirit.

Well, ask me anything… if you find this interesting.