Dear Diary,

I hope I become someone I can be proud of. I hope I achieve everything I set out to be. I hope I get fit and healthy, both physically and mentally. I hope I don't fantasize about my death even if I plan not to go through with it because I don't want to make the people I care about sad, even if I don't think that they would actually be that sad.

Why can't I express my feelings and thoughts? Why am I always awkward? I could be so much more, but I'm stuck here being average, not doing anything worthwhile. I could be great.

All my hurt and pain, the sleepless nights wishing I died in a way that wouldn't change how others view my family and friends, because the world is still not accepting of suicide, even though I know it's not really a good thing and shouldn't be accepted. I know it's the easy way out, but it gives me comfort, like I can just end my suffering anytime. Like, I know that people have a harder life than me, and I'm not special or important, but I think I would have liked it if someone actually looked between the lines and saw I was hurting during the brief time I was actually almost saying I'm suicidal. Like, I told my mother by accident that I want to die with my father, like a few feet away, or when I told my friends that I'm used to blood because I always have cuts on my arms, but they were never really deep, so I don't even have the scars as proof.

Why am I like this? Even worse, I'm gay, more precisely a panromantic asexual and genderqueer, in a third-world country where it's punishable by death to be gay. Why was I born? Why don't they care? Am I not worth loving? Should I die?

Feeling Lost's Dear Diary