I see absolutely no reason for me to go on living. My whole life I have been abused, verbally and physically, by my mother. It fucked me up but good. Now, any conception of self worth that I might have possessed has been eradicated. All throughout high school, I was constantly reminded of how sick she was of dealing with my problems. It didn't help that I needed four psychiatric evaluations on separate occasions in order to return to school, and that I was once arrested on my front lawn for mere suicidal ideation. My whole life, people were afraid of my emotional intensity and didn't know how to handle it. Instead of accepting their own shortcomings, they cried accusations of attention seeker and crazy in my direction. Or, they simply gave up on me. And so, they walked out of that whole life. When I finally made it to college, I thought that I would be leaving behind all of those narrow minded people for the first time. But then I realized that I was transgender, and I embarked upon what would be the most difficult journey I had encountered thus far. The struggle related to my gender identity increased my anxiety, triggered the recurrence of my anxiety attacks, and made me feel worthless. I was also raped, which wouldn't have happened if I wasn't trans, and discovered that I was an alcoholic. I also dealt with bulimia for half a year as another form of self punishment, in addition to self injury, a nasty habit that plagued me throughout high school. I also started getting flash backs of abuse from my childhood, and my uncle, who is a therapist, told me that I was suffering from PTSD. Finally, in May, I was kicked out of college for being suicidal. I hadn't even done everything, and yet, there were police searching for me all over campus. I was certain that this would be the last straw for my parents, and part of me was right. That night, my mom screamed at the cop accompanying us to tell her where the nearest police station was so that she could leave me there because she didn't want me anymore. For three days, I bounced around from friend to friend, certain that I was homeless. Finally, my parents took me back, and all summer I frantically scrambled to find the money to move out, but to no avail, not even with a job. So now, I'm attending the local community college while all of my friends, the most amazing people in the world, the kind that are not narrow minded or scared off so easily by emotional intensity, and the people that I can see myself being friends with for the rest of my life, are away at school. I don't know anybody at home, and I attend a commuter school, so it's impossible to make friends, and I am living in a house that I hate, a house that hoards a horrible environment. Everyday, my mom unleashes her anger onto me, and now, I have no support system around me so that I might cope effectively. My best friend has been extremely supportive the past couple of years, and especially these past few months, but as he now has problems of his own to deal with, his patience is slowly starting to wane. And while I understand, it kills me, kills me, because he was my last lifeline. I didn't mean to rely on him so much. But the point is that it happened. Now, I have retreated into self imposed isolation. Interacting with other people unleashes my anxiety. Reaching out to others and allowing them to grow close to me only hurts me in the end. I'm so fucked up that it's difficult for me to maintain positive, successful, healthy relationships with others. I have never felt so alone, nor have I ever been so convinced that my aloneness was the end of the earth. For five years, I have been chronically suicidal. While I found occasional respite, for the most part, I have been plagued by a constant, crippling darkness. For the duration of this darkness, I have completed one stage of my life and entered another entirely, and it hasn't gotten better. I have changed in so many ways, except for the one that matters most: I have not found happiness. And that is the crucial distinction between living and dying. Now more than ever, I am incapacitated by a steadfast despondency. It consumes me on a minute-by-minute basis. In this way, I have kept a systematic record of my melancholy, except that when I look back to study my progress, I realize that nothing has been accomplished at all. I have fallen into freezing water, a place where a thousand knives stab you. It is impossible to think about anything but the pain. I cannot think of one reason why my life would be worth living. I'm a talented writer, and at one point that ambition seemed worth pursuing, but my life appears to be so devoid of love that my one greatest merit simply cannot compensate for something that is so contingent to my existence. And so, I just need to make a few purchases, and...I'll never have to suffer again.