I was 12 when Shakugan no Shana fucked me up forever. Bored after school, clicked a sketchy stream. Saw Shana call the blank loser “my most important person” while staring into his soul with those flames. Something in my kid brain broke. That was true love: fierce, devoted, unconditional. Real girls at school laughed at my drawings, never looked at me like I mattered. I decided 2D was better.By 14 it was Toradora, Clannad, endless “if you’re pathetic enough, she’ll save you” stories. Hentai hit at 15—Shana clones getting everything I never would. Every coom felt like victory, then shame. Real dating? Disaster. Asked out a redhead; she pitied me, then ghosted after I tried the hand-hold anime move. Another found my body pillow, called me creepy, spread it around. Stopped trying.Friends bailed by high school. They partied; I argued waifu tiers alone at 3 a.m. Graduation came, they planned futures, I went home to rewatch Shana’s finale and cry because Yuuji won and I never would.Dropped college at 19—couldn’t focus with new seasons dropping. Jobs lasted days; real people yell, don’t confess feelings. Family gave up: Mom cries, Dad pays WiFi like I’m dying.Now 25, NEET in the same room. Faded Shana posters, dusty figures, endless tabs. Pale, bad back, wrecked eyes, calloused hands. Haven’t touched grass in months.Anime was worse than heroin. Heroin kills quick; this is slow poison promising the next waifu will feel real. Every season reminds me reality can’t compete. Life’s just disappointments: women leave, friends vanish, future gone.I’m pathetic, a stereotype. But that 12-year-old still chases the high from one line in a 2005 show. Nothing else has come close. I’m stuck refreshing sites at 4 a.m., mainlining pixels while the world moves on.If you get it, we’re both doomed. If you laugh, enjoy your life. Next episode drops soon. Don’t wait up.
