It’s just constant physical and mental pain. I’m so fucking alone. The one fucking other guy I knew irl that i was trying to get into a party with fucking ghosted me, my vehophobia basically makes me almost immobile in this fucking city because America is secretly just biblical hell. One of my friends left me for basically no reason, everyone else is constantly seeing the fake version of me I put up for everyone. My body is fucking fat and ruined and ugly and useless and a stupid body of a stupid boy who can never be the girl i want to be. I’m a constant burden on both my family and society, and there’s nothing that’s going to save me. I’m a bad person, I’m a bad communist, I don’t deserve anything.
But I can’t die because for some reason people like me. If I killed myself my fucking family would fall apart.
Fuck everything. Fuck this world. Fuck myself. This is what I get. This is what I deserve. I did bad things as a kid and now I get to suffer for the rest of my life until I die in whatever way the universe wants me to fucking die.
I made a post similar to this last night, but I deleted it because I didn’t want to burden anyone. But I can’t fucking take it anymore. I just want to die. I just want to fucking die. I wish I could just go to sleep and never wake up. Better yet, I wish I was never born. Yknow how many lives would’ve been better if I was never born? Nine certainly would’ve been better, because I wouldn’t have done any of it.
I have a few different plans for ways to check out. One of them is designed so that it’ll just take one moment of courage and then I won’t be able to back out of it. Another is really slow and painful by design. Another one is designed so that no one would find my remains - and if I quit my job beforehand, the few people I care about not hurting would never find out.
When I ask myself why I haven’t done the deed yet, I don’t actually know how to answer. But I do know that there’s no reason to hurry, so there’s also no reason to answer the ‘why’ yet.
Typing all of that out hits home how fucked up those thoughts are. But on the other hand, having those plans gives us a sense of agency over it. Whatever shit you’re dealing with, you’re making the choice to keep dealing with it and I think there’s a comfort in that. There’s also a bit of freedom in the perspective that I’m already dead and none of what I do from this point on matters.