My name doesn’t even matter. I’m 20 and transgender. I’m a nihilist and up until now, I’ve been content with making my own meaning for life.
I have Borderline/Schizotypal/Paranoid Personality Disorder comorbid with nosocomephobia (an intense fear of hospitals.) I’m impressed that I’ve made it this far in life. I never expected to.
Last year I dropped out of college because of an injury that made it difficult to go to classes on top of a debilitating depression and severe suicidal thoughts. I thought things were going to get better.
I live with my dad and his new wife. I have no job. If my friends knew the real me, I am positive that they would never speak to me again.
I am addicted to Vicodin as well as self-mutilation. I’m an alcoholic and used to be a stoner. I used to be intelligent, a painter, a singer, a fantastic actor, as well as many other things but now, I am a failure.
It’s gone. I can’t paint or write anymore. I can’t stand on stage or in front of a camera. I’m worthless.
Tomorrow night I am hanging out and drinking with my friends for the last time. They don’t know that it’s the last night and it’s better that way.
Saturday night, I am taking all of my drugs left from my injury, my antidepressants, my anti-psychotics, and all of the rest at once. Chased by whiskey and sangria. Then cut it all off with a rope around my neck.
There is no meaning, there never was, and nothing actually matters.