safe inside myself are all my thoughts of you

researching purchasing firearms in my state. i am sorry to my future clients who are unknowingly funding this. i just can't do this anymore

I have decided how and when I will put an end to my suffering far away from those who would be able to stop me. It's finally almost over.

I am at the peak of my anguish. I cannot survive much longer.

(a moment of lucidity) He told me not to be afraid. I told him the same. Then he was cold and limp in my arms. I am afraid.

I don't know where we went so wrong, but we are both unrecognizable to me. I remember how light and airy they used to make me feel.

I am burning under my skin, desperate but unable to tell everyone how I feel. My relationship makes me want to die. My friends are far away.

I hate my body, my voice, and my brain. I will never be happy in this woman-shaped shell. I can only hope to destroy it so I can be free.

No one sees me. No one hears me. No one treats me with respect. I don't deserve to claim to be transsexual. I will always be a woman.

This woman-shaped shell I never asked for eclipses and conceals me so badly even my partner regularly misgenders me these days.

There's always something else I am not trying hard enough at, and with each passing day I become weaker and more feeble-minded.

I am stupid, embarrassing, worthless, empty, ugly, fat, boring, pathetic, dull, gross, useless and above all simply unloveable.

Now I am stuck in this never-ending cycle of abuse, and there is nothing I can do to escape it. Each attempt is punished more than the last.

The last time I felt truly loved was the last time my mother sang my lullaby to me when I was 5 years old. A quarter of a century ago.

It doesn't matter, though. The problem is me. I am treated subhuman not because of the cruelty of others but because it is what I deserve.

My father was a little kinder than my mother, M was a little kinder than my father, and N was a little kinder than M.

I was so pliable, blinded by flattery and the short-lived kindness I received. I poured all my love and affection out for her.

I am a prisoner in my home. I was compelled out here in the wake of my son's death, despite my protests, to this roach-infested shithole.

At the end of the day, I have no choice but to die. I tried so desperately to get trained and work, but I keep failing, and I am broken.

This process has been humiliating and agonizing. Each person is more irritated with me than the last, and I get more frantic and desperate.