Incomplete Taiji.

When you are a teenage afab person and sing along to a song

and you realize your voice is actually an octave lower than the voice of the adult male singer.

Fuck, what happened?

Over the last week I have gotten worse, every day, every hour, every minute, every breath.

I feel nauseous as hell and can think of nothing but dying.

STOP!

I can’t continue thinking like that, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!

But the mere thought of living, continuing living for so many years is enough for me to panic.

Everything is meaningless. Nothing matters. Life has no meaning, so why do I even bother?

My mind is toxic. My mind is dangerous. My thoughts are killing me.

Killing oneself out of despair (disgust with life)

The great thing about growing your own food is you can just step out and have dinner with everything already there.

The bad thing is … wait, there is no bad thing.

Note to myself.

That was exactly what I meant by “Do they want to kill me?”

So my mother wants to go shopping for clothes tomorrow (because I do need something that fits me everything’s too baggy now) and I have no idea how to explain all the scars on my legs.

I was confused, then my dash did a thing.

I am very confused and my room smells of cinnamon.

If I had the chance to eradicate the entire human race from the face of this world, including myself

I would not

have to

think

twice.