I have long been aware of my borderline sociopathic instincts towards women. Mommie dearest was a vile human being and truly the most contemptable person I have ever met or known, and I have met some profound pieces of s*** in my life. I have always valued whatever intangible something within me that, if only because of meeting people that I never want to be like, has helped me avoid the typical fate of becoming a monster or an a******, and have avoided it appallingly easily. In today’s terms, I am not even an incel. I have no hatred or negativity towards women despite my apparent inability to attract or even encounter one that seems to be the opposite of every one I have ever encountered. I actually value and savor emotional and physical celibacy in myself, even with my own body/m*********** Over this morning’s coffee and cigarettes,I realized how to say it most easily. I respect and adore women. Hell I qualify as even revering/worshipping them. But when it comes to either relationships or s**, they are as if an art gallery exhibit or an endless art museum. Beautiful, mesmerizing, enthralling, inspiring. But for me, abstractions and distractions that are not for me.