I’m a member of loser clique, a group of individuals bound not by shared triumphs or common passions but by our collective failures. Together, we wallow in mediocrity and misery, with nothing to show for our years spent online except hollow friendships and a growing pile of insecurities. While others navigate the world, I linger in the shadows, blending into conversations where I don’t belong.

Among my many shortcomings is my embarrassing lack of romantic experience. I've never had sex, never felt the warmth of genuine affection. This fact has gnawed at me for years, filling me with shame. I try to pretend I don’t care, but deep down, it’s a constant reminder of my failure to connect on even the most basic human level.

It doesn’t stop there. I grapple with crippling social anxiety, a condition that makes real-life interaction unbearable. Conversations in person are a minefield, so I retreat into the safety of online personas. In the digital world, I can be anyone—someone smarter, more confident, more interesting. Yet, this only deepens my isolation and delusion.

I suffer from severe imposter syndrome, which leads me to sabotage any rare moment of genuine success. When I do something right, I can't celebrate it. Instead, I assume it's a fluke, another accident in a life of mishaps. It feeds into my compulsion to be other people, because if I can’t find worth in myself, perhaps I can find it in pretending to be someone else.

So here I am, lost in a web of self-created illusions, desperately seeking validation and meaning in the most pitiful of ways. I know I’m a mess, and maybe one day I’ll break free from this cycle. But for now, this is who I am—The Immigrant, a failure in the real world, drifting aimlessly online, pretending to be anyone but myself.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5604120&forum_id=2\u0026mark_id=5309775",#48148482)