i don’t live a real genuine life in any way. i delude myself that im good. that im a woman. that ive changed. that i deserve love. that im talented, et cetera. i lie to everyone i meet about anything i can, anything that benefits me. i dont really know who i am or what the point is to being alive, milling myself wouldn’t really be a suicide so much as it would be like canceling a kickstarter for a book. nobody would be hurt by someone who doesn’t exist yet being killed they’d just be mildly disappointed