no escape, yes surrender

for the most part, all of my suffering is done in silence.

that's why i do get those who seem happy in photos and are found dead at their own hands. i empathize with them a whole lot. so much so that i will go as far as to lump myself with them.

from the very beginning, i've always been callous about morbid matters. death as a conversation topic has never put me off. i'm quite open about my prediction of not making it to retirement age, or thinking that death is an appropriate punishment for my screw ups. i view the subject matter as objectively as possible. it has nothing to do with my depression. i can also be happy and think of wanting to die. i simply have a long-standing fixation about dying that it's just as constant of a thought as living.

i'm afraid of the physical sensation of dying. i get frequent nightmares of someone out to kill me or being in a dangerous situation that will likely result in my death. i'm fine with the thought of me dying, but maybe it's my fear of getting hurt that really scare me. like how i would avoid a root canal operation and opt instead to live with the nagging pain in my molars. i don't want that one major painful experience, perhaps because i made myself comfortable with the pain of my daily life.

i have no other choice but soldier on if i still want to keep doing things that i love. almost every single day is such a struggle. what sucks the most is that there isn't an observably legitimate reason why my life is painful. it simply feels that way. when i look at others that have this similar struggle, i envy those that have visibly apparent solutions. a man that feels like he really is a woman could change their looks and their identity to fit what they feel inside. i don't have that option. i can't get out into the world looking like shit cause i feel like shit - that's unacceptable. it's not making society any better with that attitude. you have to play by everyone else's rules. sit down, shut up, smile, and get on with your day. but if i go out there and live my truth that i'm a such a broken soul and then i'm perceived needing fixing. which is such a quandary cause to be authentic means i need to be less of who am i and more of who i can't seem to be. that's why i'm sympathetic with those that have hung themselves up, jumped off the ledge, or blew their heads off.

and that is why i really don't have a choice but to suffer in silence.

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