Journal of a Depressive Transboy

I remember this comic i saw awhile back by this fucker named "erika moen". she's this transphobic douchelord who makes all these educational comics about sex and stuff. The comic i'm talking about wasnt about sex though.
it was about dying.
Here's a bit of it:

I'm talking about the top panel right now, because my edgelord self agrees with the lower sentiment.
But I recently (as in, 3 minutes ago) had a similar awakening.
except mine was the opposite.
I was sitting in my chair, staring blankly forward after a particularly exhausting day, studying my wilted lavender plant when I realized that I really didn't want to live anymore. granted, i never really had in the first place, but i've been going to therapy in an attempt to get it so the thought of death brought fear and not acceptance. And at this point, I really dont think that she can help me anymore.

Here's some factors that lead me to this conclusion:

I've had a sudden spike in paranoia, to the point of feeling unsafe wherever I go, and having scissors on my body at all times as a means of defense. when i go to bed, i put drapes over all the windows and paper over those that dont have curtains, and sleep with my scissors on my bedstand, with a light on in the closet, because i know that something is out there, something that will lead me to a fate worse than death
One of the main reasons i've been staying alive (or telling myself that i HAVE to stay alive) is because i had this crazy idea that my friends gave a single fuck about me. To be honest, at this point the only person in my friend group who i know for SURE cares about me is zach, but he's kind of obliged to because hes dating me. Even then, my mere existence is detrimental to his health, so i dont even have that. anyway, my friends have this lovely habit of ignoring me constantly and being put off by my enthusiasm. Not that i blame them, i'm a loud, obnoxious piece of retarded shit. hanging out with me is like trying to control an actualy fucking 5-year old. "I wanna talk about x-men!! oooh a butterfwy!! i wondah' what DIS rock tastes wike!! fuck!! ass!! shit!!! hehe bad words are fun"
earlier this week, i relapsed into self harm. and i liked it. i did it over and over again because it felt good. christ, i cant even be left alone for 2 weeks without resorting to cutting myself like the little fucking pre-teen i am
developed a new facet: Habit. i think this speaks for itself. my mental health is deteriorating more and more every day and medication costs money. isnt the fact that my parents tried so hard and spent so much to have me, only to get stuck with a fucking lump of shit enough of a burden??
I really dont have a future. i'm not proficient at anything lucrative, so helloooo living at home, continuing to be a burden for the rest of my life. i have really no possible outcome in my future that doesnt end up with me homeless or dead. And besides, as dad always says, not matter what i do i'll end up shooting out babies anyway. my worth is tied to my genitals.

anyway im gonna go cut myself now like the fucking retard i am lmao