My birth was a mistake. Not killing myself when I was younger was a mistake. Believing all of the lies that I was told growing up was a mistake. Hoping that even one female on this entire planet would ever find me attractive was a mistake. Every time I go out into the world turns out to be a mistake. But staying inside all day is a mistake, too. Every action I could possibly take — besides suicide — is a mistake because continuing to exist will only result in further torment that I don’t want to deal with any longer.
I’m not going to moan about how I did nothing to deserve this horrific fate — even if it may be true — because that won’t change anything. The only thing that can put an end to my lifelong suffering is fast-forwarding to my death.