#sui note

This will be the last and only post I will ever make. I’m offing myself tonight. So to the people who love me, or hell, even CARE? I’m sorry. I felt like no one even cares about me. I’m tired of those repeated heart attacks from that one person. I’m tired of passing out thinking about my old friend. Again, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I know this happened once, and again. I failed last time, so why not finish what i started?..

Im glad I'll miss horrible things like climate change, my mom dying, any wars that may or may not happen.

But it sucks not being able to plan for my future like everyone else.

I'm going to die.

Soon.

In april of the year 2029, when I'm 21.

Why? Well, lots of reasons.

But bottom line is that nothing will change what happens.

I'm scared, i wish everything could be okay and i wish i could go back in time, live someone else's life.

Unfortunately, I don't have that privilege.

but im scared

Every inch of my innocence is gone

Im not a little girl anymore

Im an adult woman, 16.

Im a freak, a futre prostitute

A drug addict, a bad example and a gas station bathroom corpse

I want to be a nice

Innocent little girl but im not that

Now I will never be that

Im never gonna have any friends or live in a nice house or have a nice husband

I'll fuck girls and do bdsm and all the bad things that have poisoned me my whole life

Im not an angel anymore

I never was.

My god has abandoned me.

I am already in the woods somewhere away from the cabin, lying in the pine leaves with an empty pill bottle in my hand. I should start off by saying that I'm sorry. I should also follow that apology by the fact that I knew who and what I was in this life; I was a useless, broken burden. There was just something wrong with me that couldn't be fixed, no matter how I tried. It won. And I'm sorry for that. I didn't believe in any gods or an afterlife, but if those Christians were right then I'll be with Dad by now.

And if that's the case, then you won't have anything to worry about. Hopefully, actually, you'll have one less thing to worry about now that I'm gone.

I'm sorry for being so difficult."

To whom it may concern.

A private letter.

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[Contains possibly upsetting text.]

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It is too late for me for I am broken beyond repair. There is still hope for the rest of you. Don't look at what I've done to convince yourself to do the same. I've been there. After Jenn hung herself that April in the quiet hours of the morning... I thought maybe she was right; it was no use fighting my inevitable fate -- consumed by an inner darkness that spreads like fire. But like I had to... Make your own decision, and make it for yourself and your own reasons.

Today I woke up feeling the weight of having a body that could never be neutral or 'normal' or something that was worth love and genuine attraction and not objectification. And a body that is broken by trauma, not only psychologically, but physically. I realize I am so conditioned to this that I cannot become a vessel for love.

My spirit does not know how to be moved by real love or real connection anymore, for I am not sure what that looks or feels like anymore. What I've always been told and learned was love turns out maybe was not entirely truth. I don't even know how to love properly. I'm sure I've suffered many heartbreaks due to this.

Moving through grey days and a hazy daze of daily dissociation leaves me a shell of someone who I think I used to know. I don't know that person anymore. I think they died a long time ago maybe. Or recently.

For now I am but a vessel of trauma. Every morning I wake up from night terrors that sleep paralysis determines I must repeat a few more times before I can wake up and remember where and what I am. I wake up exhausted, having just lived out all my trauma all over again.

And then I begin my day depending on how much money I have access to:

With or without my antidepressant, ptsd, and anxiety medicine; with or without soap and toothpaste and shampoo and conditioner; with or without a single meal for the rest of the day; with or without my hormones; with or without the physical ability to get up; with or without the psychological will to live.

I work from 6am to 1am most days, sometimes longer. Coping with my lack of control over my existence and body by being a workaholic to stride towards a fulfilling future. Or any future at all. Yet the cycle of poverty that a lot of mentally and physically disabled black transsexuals like myself can't break out of. Not that poverty was engineered to get out of anyway. The future looks dark, for I am much too tired and weary from scaling a mountain that gets 6 feet taller everytime I manage to climb 2.