Hi future Kathy. It’s 2021. Still fucking quarantined #goals living is unbearably dull. Often I find myself thinking “there must be more to being alive than this?” I still adore JEC, it seems they’re still friends. I reunited with friends I made years ago, and met some new ones as well. I cherish bri and tog and the others dearly. Sexlapis is soo booming tbh free therapy those mfs be crazy! Not to be grim, thinking of dying nearly every day isn’t new. Remember last year’s letter when I said I was regressing badly (guess fucking what). Recently I read a fic…it seriously made me think way too hard at 2 in the morning. Philosophical ideals on ao3 nawg..something about that be so wrong. Every second in which I’m not focused on Zhongli I feel like a husk of a human being. Obviously that’s unhealthy as hell but it’s the only way I can properly stay awake. There is a strong belief in the idea that things do not have meaning unless you assign it some. Such as with life. I live to serve others, to help people in times of need. It makes me happy, fulfilled. But often I find the insecure part of me asking if I’m truly not needed, that I’m not of help at all. And there are the times where the undiagnosed part of me feels like doing nothing at all. I can barely take care of myself, so when I exert myself for others, it’s disheartening when they do not feel the same. The idea that you cannot love others before you love yourself is so fucking wrong I want to waterboard it. My identity is a contradiction; the minute I am not furious at external issues I start loathing what’s within. I’ve been intrigued with the sea since childhood, to the prospect of launching myself into the ocean blue and allowing the saltwater to crawl up my lungs, flow through my arteries. They say it’s a peaceful death, after excruciating, all-consuming agony. The fact that I can’t control a natural death infuriates me; I’m not afraid of it, I just don’t want it to be lame. I don’t want to die in a hospital bed of old age with a bunch of people watching that’d be the most embarrassing shit ever. I convince myself this isn’t depression, but do mentally healthy people think of dying at their own hands daily [the answer is probably not]. Gender. Often I find myself wanting to change everything about myself, rip all the skin off my flesh and flesh off my fingertips. I would be very much happier if I was able to bend my appearance at will, it’s my biggest burden. I’m tired. So fucking tired it’s appalling. I can’t imagine going on like this, living the finite yet apparently incredibly mortal human lifespan. My intrigue from flowers stems from this, from the idea that their beauty is only special because they run out of time. There are times where I truly do enjoy living, where I take in my surroundings for once and live in the present. I’m in love. In love with the concept of love, my loved ones, the earth, people, the art they create, the art I eventually consume. I do consider myself a philanthropist of sorts. But this rarely happens; living in the present is not accessible to someone who hates who they are in that moment. When I say I hate myself more than anyone else on the earth it’s not some tumblr sexyman lingo joke I genuinely think it would be better if I just upped and disappeared off the map one day. I’m not a fucking idiot I know my loved ones would miss me but I constantly yearn for people to forget about me, to realize that I’m not worth remembering. Please, please forget about me. [The world if I was on medication.] The tortured artist archetype. Candles that glow twice as bright also burn twice as fast. It’s laughable, really.