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Octavia

Octavia

“I’d… rather kill myself.”
Mar 4, 2023
363
Note: This post was sent using a scheduled time. It is probably that I am busy being dead, so I apologise if I cannot reply to anyone. Mods, please disable this account on the 18th of August if there is not any further activity.

I must admit did not exactly expect my last words to number in the thousands, nor that I would even share them on a public forum. I had not left any farewell letters behind as I intended to make my departure as discreet as possible, and I've been cutting off all contact with everyone I knew since New Year to prevent people from learning of my fate. I do not expect this to be found, I anticipate that the information blackout would be sufficient to ensure nobody would know what became of me. But sometimes things do not go according to plan, so this would serve as a contingency measure of sorts. Hence the absurd amount of words, if anyone sought for answers I can no longer provide myself, then hopefully they would find something that would bring them peace here. I have also included some demographic information about myself in case it is useful for anything.

Please allow me to me preface things by writing that this site has not contributed to my death in any way. My decision was made in February 2023, and I would have been able to eventually get my hands on a dying method without this site. I was initially planning to employ fast acting compounds such as cyanide or pentobarbital due to my body cleanup plans involving a prompt response from the authorities, however my attempts to acquire them were unsuccessful as faking a hazmat-certified address is beyond my abilities. SN does seem like a very tranquil way to go, but I disregarded it until now since it had the disadvantage of requiring a private space for an extended period of time, which might be problematic.

As for introductions, I am a trans woman living in Canada and I am over two decades old. I would never have thought that I would live this long, but I guess life can be full of surprises. Ethnically speaking I should be Chinese, however from a cultural standpoint I am pretty much Canadian as I grew up here and never really liked the backward values my progenitors ran on. I do not blame them too much, they nearly spent their entire lives in China and were raised by poorly educated parents in a society that is still quite bigoted to this day. When it comes to linguistics I have native-level fluency in both French and English, and I am capable of verbal communication in Mandarin although I rarely speak the language due to the bad memories I associate with it.

Here are some details about my medical history. I was diagnosed with autism and ADHD when I was little, a diagnosis that my birth parents hated due to how taboo mental health topics are in Chinese culture. They also had an aversion towards the idea of taking medicine, so I never had access to Concerta until that I made it to university. The list below provides information on the effects of each condition that I noticed.

Autism: a penchant for getting squeezed alongside the exhibition of excessive immaturity on rare occasions.

ADHD: constant daydreaming and a very high need for stimuli. I have trouble focusing on tasks that I find dull despite my best efforts, and tend to fixate on things I find interesting.

I doubt that this would be helpful for anything other than demographic censuses, but when it comes to romantic/sexual orientation I should be biromantic and demisexual. From a strictly technical standpoint I'm probably closer to being pan than bi, but I cannot stand the pan flag colour palette so I guess I'm bi.

As for my mental faculties, I should be sound of mind (I think? I mean, loopy people aren't exactly aware that they're missing marbles) and mediocrely intelligent. I vaguely remember having an IQ of around 134 when my progenitors got me tested, which goes to show that such a metric is horrendous at measuring practical intelligence given yours truly's failure to notice the monumental problem I had on my hands until it was over half a decade too late.

No self-harm history, unless that usage of a TENS unit counts. I got myself cooped up in a psych ward for nearly a month once due to an early retirement attempt, which I guess was fair as I might have been too transparent about the amount of preparation involved. A riveting place with complimentary French opera performances at 2am, but I would rather not enjoy its hospitality a second time.

When it comes to physiology, I have always been extremely skinny despite my best attempts to fatten up by stuffing myself with unhealthy things that barely qualify as food. The lack of progress on gaining weight is probably due to an excessively fast metabolism, which is kind of odd as I usually have low stamina. Quite frankly it is surprising I have not gotten diabetes yet, with the absurd amount of sugar I consumed.

Phys stats:
Weight: 57kg
Height: 175cm (~183cm pre-transition, but HRT made me shrink)
BTD/STD: never tested, but highly unlikely to have any.
Muscular strength: weaker than the average cis girl pre-transition, and now even weaker due to HRT. Probably due to being severely underweight.

My medicinal history is pretty boring in the beginning, but it got interesting in the past two years. Nothing notable until I was 19, I discovered that gender transitions were possible at 18 but was only able to start a medical transition a year later after I got kicked out. Here is a list of meds that I have employed in the past, alongside their dosage and effects.

Type: anti-androgen
Status: discontinued, replaced by spirolactone
Dosage: 2x25mg per day
Effects: heightened prolactin levels, eradication of testosterone levels
Notes: This is what initiated my transition. It was replaced in favour of spirolactone due to high prolactin levels being a cause of concern. It was also more commonly used in Quebec, while that British-Columbia typically employs spiro.

Type: oestrogen
Status: currently in use, sublingual
Dosage: 3x2mg per day
Effects: Heightened oestrogen levels, slightly increased appetite, softer skin, less body hair, stronger immune system, significantly decrease in physical strength, body feminisation, drastically lowered suicidal tendencies from gender dysphoria, and more tears when crying.
Notes: Ah, the magic little green pill that would have solved nearly all my problems had I been made aware of its existence earlier. It is what has kept me alive until now, and I would definitely have ended myself years earlier without it. I'm still going to die, but I will die much happier knowing that I am dying as my authentic self. And with fantastic skin too, asian genes are one of the few nice things my Chinese birth parents gave me. Heaven when it comes to having less masculine physiology, and Hell in terms of culture.

Type: bioidentical progesterone
Status: currently in use
Dosage: 1x100mg per day, suppository
Effects: increased appetite, higher energy levels, slightly better feminisation (I think?)
Notes: From what I know this hormone seems to be working in conjunction with oestrogen. There has been hearsay about this medication helping people get better feminisation, however there is little research on the topic for the time being.

Type: anti-androgen
Status: currently in use
Dosage: 2x100mg
Effects: eradication of testosterone levels, aggravation of sodium cravings
Notes: It made me crave salty things even more than my pre-spiro self, who already had a salty diet. I would quite literally be licking at table salt on some days when I was bored, it is fortunate that I had the habit of drinking plenty of water during the day. Not my favourite anti-androgen, but it does its job well enough and I have other matters to attend to. I was planning to switch to Bicalutamide once I was under less pressure, but I guess I will not be making it that far.

Type: anti-depressant
Status: discontinued, replaced by wellbutrin
Dosage: 1x10mg per day
Effects: slightly lowered depression, sleep issues
Notes: It helped somewhat and made my sleep schedule weird. My situational depression was not that bad at the time, so the medicine is not at fault. Replaced by wellbutrin due to the effects not being sufficient for my present sadness.

Type: anti-depressant
Status: currently in use
Dosage: 1x300mg/day
Effects: decreased appetite, lowered ability to cry, sleep issues
Notes: Completely ineffective, but only because that my situational depression is so bad it would be unrealistic to expect any medication to be capable of making a difference. I doubt that even ECT (electro-convulsive therapy, it is much more civilised than it sounds) would have an effect, given that my depression is not caused by a chemical imbalance or something similar.

Type: anti-depressant
Status: discontinued
Dosage: 2x25mg
Effects: decreased appetite, drastically decreased ability to cry, occasional heartburns, feeling bloated, sleep issues
Notes: Also completely ineffective, due to the nature of my depression. Quite an unpleasant medicine to be honest, but I suppose that the least I could do is to let my shrinks try every method they can think of if I am going to end myself soon. I am actually a little bit sad to see them spend so much effort on me while knowing that their efforts are doomed. I stopped taking it cold turkey after some months as all it did was giving me heartburns. I did not notice any ill-effects from the abrupt stop to its use, and my medical providers were informed of it.

Type: anti-depressant
Status: currently in use
Dosage: 1x15mg/day
Effects: weight gain, falling asleep faster
Note: This was supposed to be complementing zoloft, but I kept using it after discontinuing the latter as it helped me sleep and gain weight.

Type: anti-depressant
Status: currently in use
Dosage: 4x37.5mg/day
Effects: mild heartburns, minuscule increase in energy
Note: Ineffective aside from some small changes. I'm sure it would have helped many people, the absence of noticeable improvement can be attributed to my depression being situational in nature.

Type: ADHD med
Status: in reserve
Dosage: 1x36mg
Effects: increased focus, higher energy levels
Notes: I have a small reserve with me that is intended to be used during certain periods such as exam seasons. It helps a lot with focus, but I would rather not use it all the time as I am scared of developing a dependence to it. And as odd as it may sound, I kind of enjoy being air-headed and dreamy most of the time. Being grounded in reality can be a terribly depressing experience.

As for my psychotherapy history, I am lucky enough to have access to ample mental health resources, even though it pains me to know that all these efforts would ultimately be in vain. Despite its lack of results, I did enjoy therapy since I do not get chances to talk with people often. It also helped me process the events that happened, and I am not as worried about being truthful that I would be if I were with a friend given that professionals can handle themselves. Of course, I was careful with discussing suicide-related things as I do not enjoy being cooped up inside a psych ward. My shrinks are aware that I am severely suicidal, but as long as I do not tell them that I have the intent to die in the very near future, they cannot put me into the sadness jail nor would they want to. Most professionals here agree that putting someone who is perfectly rational into a psych ward would do more harm than good, which is nice as I can talk about everything except the specific date on which I would end myself.

I worked with a private therapist in the past, but for the last 6 months I have been seeing the on-campus psychotherapist and the psychiatrist. I see the therapist on a weekly basis, while my meetings with the psychiatrist occur on a much a lower frequency. They all seem like genuinely good people who want to help, which makes me feel awful as I know very well how things would end. I also occasionally check in with an on-campus general practitioner who is in charge of my transition meds and depression meds, and while that she does not provide me with therapy per se, talking with her does bring me a lot of comfort even though it does nothing for my death wish. As rotten as my luck was when it comes to the family I was born in, I feel like I am extremely fortunate to have access to kind professionals such as them.

I have received all the help I could ever wish for, and yet… I suppose some individuals just cannot be saved, no matter how hard people try. So the point of this is, if you have known me in real life, there is absolutely nothing you could have done. If three top notch professionals with free rein (I was very cooperative and tried every single depression med they suggested) working together failed to achieve any observable results, then there is nothing that could have been done.

The first attempt was not as intricate as the one I am making now, probably because that I did not expect it to fail.

Location chosen:
A hidden corner of a park I remember from my childhood, on a rainy day.

Preparations:
The preparations were fairly simple for this one, I ordered some supplies such as tubes and tape from Amazon and looked up a store that sold pure helium (without any oxygen in it). The store itself might have tampered with it, since, well, I am still here. I used weather forecasts to plan for doing it on a rainy day, as fewer people are present outside during rain and it is also my favourite weather. I scheduled several goodbye emails for my friends and an emergency services email to be sent 30mins after my attempt, as I needed them to clean up the scene before any bystanders notice the not-so-alive person next to a helium tank. A map with the location of my body was also attached.

Before attempting:
Not much of a fancy procedure here, just basic hygiene and a 48 hours fast to prevent my dignity from being ruined by sphincter failures.

The attempt:
I enjoyed a little walk near another childhood site I remember, then I headed straight for the park and hid myself in a spot among the foliage that I used to hide in when I was little. I spread out a picnic sheet since I disliked laying down in wet soil, then laid down on it and duck-taped two hermetic plastic bags (double layered) to my head. I must have looked ridiculous. I remember being afraid of what awaits me on the other side as my hand rested on the valve, and all I felt when I opened it was a blast of cold air within the bag. A few seconds later I was out, then for some reasons I woke up right before the paramedics and the police arrived. It was extremely embarrassing to bother them with a dead body that wasn't dead as promised, and I must admit that I felt ashamed of being such a failure that I even managed to fail an exit bag attempt. I got shipped off to a local hospital's psych ward after this.

My primary planned method for dying was MAID due to my desire to better the lives of others through organ transplants, as knowing my body will help prevent loved ones from being separated would have brought me a great deal of comfort prior to my death. Unfortunately Canada has decided to delay the bill that would have made MAID possible by an entire year, so I suppose I would have to do it myself.

I ceased communications with pretty much everyone I knew as an attempt to mitigate the emotional damage I would be causing, and while that it felt terribly lonely to do what I did, I believe the decision to be necessary. I know people have a tendency to blame their lack of action when a loved one commits suicide, and torture themselves with the question of whether they could have made a difference. By blocking all of them I ensured that they never even had a chance to make a difference, so I hope that it would at least spare them from feeling guilty in the wake of my death. It is quite a callous way to handle the situation, but I do not have any better ideas for reducing the amount of pain I would inflict upon them.

The second attempt is somewhat more intricate than the first one, as I am now post-transition and actually care about my appearance. I've managed to bluff my way into registering some business accounts with industrial/chemical suppliers, however my lack of a hazmat-rated address would ultimately result in the failure of this version of the plan.

Location chosen:
A secluded area near a vast lake on a rainy day.

Preparations:
The preparations for this one were a little bit more complicated, as I needed a fast method that is guaranteed to end me and also had to worry about how the body would be handled. The method would be potassium cyanide powder obtained from industrial suppliers, the substance was selected based upon the way I am supposed to get my body disposed of. The latter involves leaving it in a concealed public area, so a swift death and body recovery would be preferable. An email would be scheduled for delivery to the local emergency services 5 minutes after the time of the attempt, as cyanide is supposed to act fast and I did not want any bystanders to try to resuscitate me, given that if someone tried to give me the kiss of life it would probably turn into the kiss of death for them. A map highlighting the predetermined dying spot chosen during a previous survey of the area would be attached to the email, alongside geographic coordinates in case they get lost. At the time of my first suicide attempt I still kind of looked like a boy and therefore could not have cared less if my next of kin (birth parents) buried me in a suit, so I did not have to make any post-mortem plans back then. Now that I look quite nice in the clothes I have chosen for myself, I would prefer if my sense of fashion was not tampered with after my passing. Given that next of kin usually gets to decide what happens to the body of a deceased person, I have no doubts that my progenitors are going to cut my hair short and put me in a suit to cover up the entire thing for their relatives in China. And while that I have nothing against suits—in fact, I think that a red one might be quite snazzy—the suit that my progenitors would choose is definitively going to be one of those hideous abominations that would make a tailor throw themselves out of a window. In order to prevent that from happening, I have prepared a will and met with a law firm to make things easier for my appointed executor. The memorandum of wishes contained instruction for my remains to either be used for medical purposes or for science, and regardless of what happens to it I would have it cremated and the ashes disposed of in a irrecoverable fashion (I would rather avoid going into an urn that bears the insolent name I was given at birth).

Before attempting:
Concerns about sphincter failures are still present, so I have obtained one of these colonoscopy prep kits in order to flush my internal systems thoroughly after a 48h fast. Not the most pleasant procedure to go to, but I'll live (and then die).

The attempt:
Ah, the simple part. I will be going to the predetermined spot, spread out a picnic sheet, lie down, and take the poison. Much simpler and reliable than my first attempt, I would be very surprised if I woke up from this one. It's actually quite funny how SN is an antidote for cyanide, if I did not double check my info I might have tried to stack both methods together which would have yielded a most humiliating result. Two methods that are completely lethal on their own, and yet somehow nullify each other. Nature certainly has a strange sense of humour.

Mostly the same as version 1, except with N this time and an increased delay before alerting the authorities. Due to pentobarbital not being as toxic as cyanide, it might have been possible to keep salvageable organs if I was precise with the timing. This was foiled due to a lack of references for a passport application, which required two references that knew for for at least two years (everyone that fit the criterion was cut off as part of my damage control measures). The plan was to fly to Mexico and acquire pentobarbital with the help of local contacts, then smuggle it back while disguising it as perfume. I could certainly have gotten ahold of some acquaintances to serve as references, however having them play a part in my demise would result in unacceptably high levels of collateral damage.

I was planning to smuggle the N through border inspection by disguising it as a cosmetic product. The substance has a very distinct smell, being similar to the one a permanent marker would give off, which might have caught the attention of inspectors. Luckily some creative kook out there developed a brand of Sharpie-scented perfume (yes, the permanent marker. Fascinating creatures we are, aren't we?), so rebottling the liquid would take care of suspicions should they smell test my things.

Due to my paranoiac nature I made plans for some bodyguard arrangements, as Tijuana has the unfortunate reputation of being the place where tourists get kidnapped. My asian features would make me look out of place, and given the unreliability of Mexican law enforcement I would not be able to count on them should something happen. An US-based bodyguard that can blend in with the locals would be needed, since a visible bodyguard might make some miscreants believe that I am worth protecting and think that I am some rich heiress who can be ransomed for a lump sum of money. Unfortunately for them, I have been disowned so there won't really be anyone to pay such a ludicrous fee (if I were to appraise myself the value would be negative), and unfortunately for me, my captors would probably not be too happy about that fact. And while that I do not mind dying at all, it is unlikely that I would be granted that mercy and I would very much prefer to avoid becoming a source of income for them. Part of me is relieved that I won't have to execute this version of the plan, since it is significantly more complicated than the other ones and so many things can go wrong with it. Planning border crossings make the few braincells I have left hurt.

Fairly similar to the process of version 1, except that I am now dying indoors. I would have very much preferred to see nicer sights prior to dying, but I guess that SN is too risky to use outside due to it being slow acting.

I am using Stan's protocol, with Ibuprofen, Dimenhydrinate (AE subtitute), and Remeron (auro-mirtazapine), 60h fast beforehand and 2h water fast before attempting.

I have been ordering a dozen of jumbo sized ice packs off the internet to line my bed with, as I dislike the idea of a dead body lying around for a few hours during summer. They should be sufficient to cover the entire bed according to my measurements, with a little bit of luck it would be enough to slow down decomposition. Same internal purging process as before, the upside of staying indoors is that I won't be as exhausted from the fast.

Now, while that I consider myself to be very old—museum worthy old—I understand that many people would see me as a little bit young to die. So, here are my reasons for dying.

I think that the following things are the main reasons for my demise:

Unfortunately it seems that I was not lucky enough to be born into the right family. It would have been an okay family for someone who is cishet and neurotypical, but I do not seem to be fulfilling these criteria. I was diagnosed with ADHD/slight autism when I was little, and I don't think that my progenitors took the news very kindly due to them being raised with conservative Chinese values. Whether they realised it or not, they raised me to be ashamed about the occasional differences I exhibited which led me to have very distant relations with them. Of course, I lived under the same roof as them and they fed me reasonably well, but I seldom confided to them and I never really let them know my inner feelings. I might also have been repressing the latter myself, as I mistook my gender dysphoria for a weird quirk from autism that must be stifled so that I can be "normal".

They did not take the news of me not being cis very well either and went down right-wing rabbit holes at an impressive pace, I assume that it is mostly due to these sources telling them what they wanted to hear. My birth mother believed that Trump was the second coming of Christ, I would have been thoroughly entertained by that absurd notion if I wasn't under the same roof as her. Living with them became very unpleasant as they were convinced that I was being brainwashed and mind controlled by some secret gay organisation, and called me delusional on a daily basis. They even went so far as to check through the correspondences on all of my personal devices, and made me cease contact with my best friend/ex because they thought that she was transing my gender as part of the gender studies class she took back in CEGEP. Quite frankly I would have found the idea to be hilarious if it did not make them do things that I would never have thought them to be capable of. They told me that I would not be welcome to live with them anymore if I was to start HRT, and also threatened to slander the reputation of my best friend who they blamed for everything. I was desperate for their acceptance and overextended my trust despite it being broken repetitively, which ultimately resulted in my first serious attempt at ending myself. My improvised exit bag failed me despite all the precautions I took regarding the gas purity, and I got stuck in a hospital while that my progenitors went on about how other people will never respect me if I do not even have respect for my own life. Even though I never planned to live on, somehow I was still hurt by their callous reaction to my retirement attempt and their continued refusal to let me undergo a hormonal transition despite the pleas of the hospital staff. I eventually got myself discharged with the assistance of a friend, and went on to live without them in my life. It was scary, but it also felt freeing to be in an environment without screaming people. I was able to start medically transitioning, which significantly lessened my dysphoria for a period of time. But I still felt very lonely and isolated.

Holidays seasons were particularly rough, as everywhere I went I saw advertisements about spending time with one's family and the such. I have tried finding a chosen family, but it just does not feel the same and I always feel like an outsider or a guest. A very honoured guest, but a guest nonetheless. I am far too old to be adopted and too young to marry into a new family, so I do not think that I would be getting one anytime soon. The things I went through also made me extremely needy and clingy to the point of becoming a liability for any potential partners, therefore it would be highly irresponsible of me to find one as I am far too broken to be capable of being a healthy individual with a healthy relationship. The idea of finding a romantic partner does appeal to me as having someone to cuddle with and confide in would be nice, however I fear that I may have ulterior motives when it comes to them. You see, while that I would be interested in my significant other, I would be even more interested in their family due to my need of one. This opens up the possibility of me using my would-be partner as a means to an end, which would be as unethical as it sounds. And also weird, since marrying someone for their family members is as peculiar as it gets. Even gold digging makes more sense than whatever that is. As such, I do not believe that love is something that is destined for me. I'd rather not ruin such a wholesome concept. I don't think that I will ever find a new family, at least not soon enough to prevent my death… Having Octavia Goetia as my namesake and even adopting her sense of fashion has brought me a great deal of comfort, however it also pains me very much as I know that I will never have a loving parent like she does. I selected her as my transition goal due to how achievable her looks were for me, but there is little that one can do about being born to horrendous parents. And as much as I dislike admitting it, I also have a deep fear of abandonment rooted within myself. It seems that the gravest mistake I have made in my life is to be hopelessly reliant on others for how I feel. At least I will be dying in a stylish outfit, I suppose it is one of the few things that can still make me smile.

I feel like I can't blame my birth parents too much either, I think the way they were raised never really prepared them to be good parents. I'm not even sure why they even had me. Perhaps it was merely for the purpose of continuing their bloodline. I guess that they were just trying to make their parents proud. Morons. I suppose that it is easier to think of one's upbringing as strict and efficient than to admit that they were abused during their entire childhood. Whichever ancestor of mine who thought that hitting children and screaming at them is the best way to raise them is a massive prick. I must admit that I do feel a little bit of glee at the thought of ending their bloodline, since my younger sister isn't considered to be capable of bloodline continuity due to cultural values that are severely outdated. Quite fitting to have this cactus of a family tree lose a branch because of their own outdated beliefs. Come to think of it, their interest in me is likely due to them seeing me as their male heir. Which is unfortunate, given that I have been very zealous when it comes to a medical transition, and, well, my enthusiasm with anti-androgens has effectively removed me from the human gene pool.

I do not believe that things can ever be mended between my birth family and I. They made an immense amount of mistakes while raising me, but I was ready to forget about all of them and wipe the slate clean if they were accepting, or even if they just sat back and let me do my thing. That period of time was a pivotal moment, and I did try very hard to emphasize to them how important their actions were in determining what our future relationship would be. But… they just had to ruin it. The moment has passed, and the way things are have been set in stone. Their stalking tendencies only worsens things. Perhaps some of the fault lies on my part, I shouldn't have made myself excessively emotionally vulnerable in my desperation for their acceptance. I should have overextended less, and should have employed a more cautious approach. But the past is in the past, so I would have to live (well, die) with the results of my mistakes.

I am confident that my sister would be treated well by them, given that she is likely cis and het, and they would be very careful with their remaining child. They would owe a lot of explanations to their relatives in China if both of their offspring went poof. She is quite the smart cookie and also perfectly "normal" according to their standards. I guess they would finally be able to be the perfect Chinese family they always wanted to be, and impress their relatives with the grades of their daughter to their heart's content. I doubt I would ever have fit into such a picture. Not that I wanted to, personally I find Chinese culture to be terribly dull and shallow. The only nice things I got out of being born to Chinese parents are the asian genes, which mitigated the damages my first puberty caused.

I never really admitted it because of me being very prideful, but given that I am quite literally on my deathbed, I suppose that embarrassing confessions wouldn't be bothering me in the grave. All I ever wanted was to have parents who truly loved me and who were proud of me. That is my deepest desire, there is nothing in the world I covet more than that. I guess that some things are just not meant to be.

As far as I can remember, I always wished I was born a girl. Prior to discovering that transition was possible, my life plan was just to live life and die as my assigned gender and hopefully do well enough that God (I was religious) would let me reincarnate as a girl with loving parents, which was pretty much my idea of paradise. In hindsight it was an incredibly stupid plan, but I was brainless back then and did not know that I was not supposed to hate living as a boy. Nobody ever told me that it was okay to switch genders, or even that it was possible. I only found out about gender transitions when I was 18 year old, by stumbling upon egg memes on the internet. It was illuminating, but I wish so dearly that I knew about this avenue earlier. I don't think that I'll ever get over the fact that I was unable to prevent my first puberty, I absolutely despise the things that testosterone did to my body. When the changes started happening I hated them to the point of wishing I was dead, but I thought that it was the same for everyone and that I will eventually get used to it... The lack of a girl childhood leaves me with the feeling of having a void within myself, there is just so much emptiness in my past. I wish I was able to build nicer memories than me spending all my time in fictional worlds contained within books, and being miserable whenever I was not daydreaming or reading something. All those years of agony, and the solution was just one prescription away... I'm happy about the effects that HRT has on my body, but I think that it is too late for me. Due to recent developments I no longer believe that an afterlife exists, so I will never get to have a girl childhood, ever. I should have been smarter, I should have realised that something was wrong before that disaster of a first puberty happened. I should have tried to fix things in reality instead of escaping into novels and imaginary worlds. But it is too late now, there are so many things that I regret not doing. Since starting HRT, I actually felt alive for the first time in my life, but I do not believe that anything would be able to fill the space within me that was supposed to be occupied by a proper childhood. I am glad that I was able to figure out who I truly was before my death, even if the realisation came over half a decade late.

As odd as it may sound, my selection of a transition goal was more because of her dad than because of herself. No matter how many custom outfits I commission, how good I become at make-up, or even how talented I get at reproducing her fashionably depressed British accent, I will never be able to replicate the experience of having a loving father, because that it is completely out of my hands. I should have taken action myself instead of asking an invisible old man in the sky to grant my dearest wish every single night. I did also ask them to make me dead quite often, so I suppose that I would have to make that happen myself as well.

I always hated my reflection in the mirror and the way my voice sounded in recordings. My current appearance is… acceptable, I guess. I can pass well enough to go into the proper bathroom without anyone batting an eyelid, but I haven't been able to fix the voice issue yet due to depression, which is quite inconveniencing. In hindsight the signs were so obvious too, I should have investigated them instead of just dismissing them as a weird quirk from autism. I remember feeling very embarrassed during a certain grade 6 project in which I had to dress up as a woodlands fairy, but it was not because I was wearing a dress. I distinctively remember looking down and thinking the outfit would look so much nicer if I wasn't as flat as the blackboard. So obvious, and yet it went right over my head. To think that the solution to all nearly all of my problems back then were contained within a tiny unassuming green tablet… Truth be told, I would't have minded being trans at all if I had loving parents and was able to explore my identity issue before first puberty. Not having a period like most girls did would have bothered me a little, but it wouldn't have been a disastrous situation compared to what I have on my hands at the moment.

I think that this might have to do with regrets than anything else. Even though I have the feeling that generally speaking I am quite pretty and pass fairly well, I still obsess over the smallest imperfections I think that I have. Many cis girls over criticize their appearance as they grow up even though they look fine by most standards, and some even try ending themselves over it. I guess that it's kind of the same thing for me, except that I could actually have prevented these imperfections from occurring had I been smarter and more resourceful, which makes the feeling so much worse. The regrets I hold are quite simply excruciating, I wish so dearly I was able to prevent that calamitous testosterone-based puberty. By failing to accomplish that, I essentially let the potential me who could have been happy in life die… and my failure is going to result in my own demise too. I suppose this is what I deserve, I wish my end could be more painful. My endeavours related to cyanide acquisition have been halted by my lack of a Hazmat certified business address, and I do not have the willpower to cut myself until I bleed to death. I do not believe in an afterlife so I am expecting oblivion, but if it turns out I am wrong… I think that I would be going to wherever the equivalent of Hell is. Perhaps that the pain would burn away all the memories that make me sad. Maybe I will even get to forget myself, if I am fortunate. I just hope that gender dysphoria wouldn't be on the torture menu, because if it is, I'm going to cry.

While that most would consider empathy to be a good thing, I feel like I have far too much of it. Even though my empathy being overtuned grants me the benefit of gaining a small amount of happiness when I see my peers doing well, it has the significant drawback of making me prone to despair when I see them suffering. In an utopian world it would have been a blessing since it'll be free serotonin for days, but I am afraid that in the one we live in this ability is a curse. While that I am quite mature regarding many aspects (especially in the suffering department), there is a childish idealistic part of me that just wants everyone to get along with each other and be happy. But as I grew up it became more and more apparent that greed and hatred are governing this planet, and I do not think that it would be possible for me to change that. Not on a large scale, anyways. Seeing and knowing that there is this much pain in this world greatly saddens me, and I would rather not have to deal with this feeling for the rest of my natural lifespan. It is hard for me to stomach the fact that people around the world who are just like me (not only trans people, but generally speaking) are going through horrors and pain that I cannot even fathom. And many are much younger than I am, it is a very difficult thing for me to process. So many children die to school shootings, get raped/murdered by theocratic regimes, or have their innocence taken away by adults that they trusted. I am just so disgusted by how vile society can be, I wish I could go back to my childhood naivety of believing that everything will be okay no matter how dire things may seem. I miss the rosy glasses I used to have when looking upon the world. And even if I somehow found them again, I doubt that I will be able to put them back on.

While that all the other reasons I have listed have worn out my emotional health, I consider the finishing blow to be something horrible that happened in the UK. Back in February a 16 year old trans girl was murdered by two of her classmates. And… she had a loving family. Loving parents, loving siblings, even loving grandparents, and in TERF island of all places. Her situation was a miracle, it is already so very rare for a trans person to have an entire supportive family, but in addition to that she was also able to prevent her first puberty. She would have become a fine lady if she had a normal lifespan, there was much potential in her. But then some jerks just had to stab her to death for being herself. It is unfair how a happy trans person who is loved by her family had to die, while that the depressed husk that is yours truly gets to keep living on. From an emotional standpoint she was infinitely more valuable than I ever could be. And just to add insult to injury, she will be buried under her deadname because of some stupidly rigid laws. Everything about this makes me feel bad to the point of crying every single time I think of it. I am not even sure why I am so affected by this incident as I am not even acquainted with the victim and we have absolutely nothing in common except for having both taken a massive L upon birth. I suppose I feel an unexplainable sense of kinship towards other trans people.

It is possible that I might have some sort of survivor's guilt. There are far too many trans people who are getting murdered for existing while that I am sitting pretty in a relatively safe country like Canada, and in many countries the situation is worsening. I am not able to assist them, and I know that ending myself would not help them in any way, but at least it would make me stop feeling bad. It feels so wrong for me to live past my current age while that a little one with a loving family had to die at 16. As hypocritical as it may sound, I am deeply disturbed by the idea of someone younger than me dying, against their will no less. Her situation was a miracle, but she still had to get murdered… and her parents who loved her so dearly now have to deal with the fact that their daughter was killed just because of who she was. On most nights I am haunted by the thought of her being scared as she bled out in the dark. I… don't understand how this could have happened. This specific incident has completely and utterly shattered my faith, which was the main thing that kept me going forward despite all the unpleasantries I went through. I used to be a Christian even though I did not really affiliate myself with their more mainstream beliefs, but I did believe that there was a higher being who was watching over us. I could rationalise the bad things that happened to me as trials or punishment that I deserved, but this…? This is just… I don't know. Awful does not even get close to covering it. It makes me feel like slamming my head into the nearest wall when I think about it, and I am someone who shies away from that kind of violence. This has positively sapped whatever remained of my will to live after the holidays season, I think that it makes me feel a mixture of despair and frustration. Her death leaves me with an inexplicable sense of failure. That should not have happened. She made people happy, she brought joy to her family. This is just wrong. It is so rare for a trans child to have a loving family, and they just had to ruin it. I am able to gain small amounts of bittersweet happiness when I hear of trans children having supportive parents, and I must admit that knowing there are other trans people whose lives are going better than mine is a major source of comfort for me. But this… this is the equivalent of someone who is used to watching puppy videos for the happy brain molecules suddenly seeing a video of puppies getting tossed into a wood chipper for zero reason at all. That gives me I-want-to-die brain molecules. I've been focusing on other people's suffering because that I am afraid of facing mine. But even then my empathy would result in me feeling awful, I will die whether I am tormented by the suffering of others or my own. Screw this reality, I am done. Miss me with that Scheiße, if life is meant to be an unjust farce then I want no part in it.

Even though I was greatly saddened by my own familial circumstances, I was able to draw a great amount of comfort from the knowledge that there are loving and accepting families out there, who would help their trans child discover themselves instead of disowning them. Being in the situation I am in didn't feel as bad when I was able to tell myself "Oh hey things might look spicy on our side, but I'm sure that they are going better for the others. We'll be fine.", but now…

On the few occasions when I feel a semblance of bliss while doing an activity (i.e. reading, watching something, playing a virtual game) I will always get reminded about the incident and suddenly whatever I was doing becomes a gruelling chore, and my fleeting light-heartedness turns into a deep desire to unexist on the spot. Following that I either cry, force myself into sleeping, or just start polishing details about my departure. It might be one of the reasons why my final note is so long, given that once I have taken care of the logistics for my death, the only thing I can do is write as I wait for the components to arrive… nothing to do but put my misery down into words. It helps me process it better, in a way.

And the horrible stories I mentioned do not even scratch at the surface of all the depressing things in the world that I am aware of. I've developed the habit of reading newspapers in high school, and maintained a habit of being up to date about the things that happen in the world. It feels wrong to be happy when there are so, so many things to be sad about. I mean, I am pretty okay with myself being in a miserable situation since I probably deserve it, but other people having their happiness ripped away like that? Unacceptable. The incidents that has been happening in countries such as Iran… When I still believed in an afterlife, I was at least able to tell myself that they are in a better place, but now… seeing innocent souls extinguished just like that causes me a great deal of anguish. The idea of ceasing to exist feels scary, but at least I won't be sad anymore. The few fleeting moments of joy I experience are shadowed by the sinking realisation that people such as Brianna will never get to experience nice simple things like sunrays dotting the shade of a tree. I'm quite fine about the idea of me being in purgatory as I have developed the ability to be extremely cold and distant towards myself, but I cannot bear the sight or even the thought of other people suffering. Sometimes it feels like the world is burning down around me, and I feel so powerless about everything that is happening. I am just a single person with barely enough energy to turn in my essays on time, without divine support, I… cannot do anything to help. And I despise that fact so very much.

My ability to leech off other people's happiness has served me well, but I guess I should have foreseen this happening. It is very ironic that one of the things that has kept me alive for so long would also end up being the thing that ended me. I wouldn't have it any other way.

I have been aware of our climate problems since I was in high school, through the newspapers and by attending protests. But it seems like very little has changed since then, we are still barrelling towards a global 2 Celsius increase in temperature. It might seem like a small number, but it is the difference between life and extinction for countless animal and plant species that are vital to the human world. Not only would such a change cause unprecedented waves of climate refugees, but it would also cripple food supply chains when food producing countries get affected. And there are still muppets out there who think that it is a conspiracy made up by "the libs" and are too caught up in culture wars to care. Of course, forms of green energy are on the rise, but they will not become prevalent until it is far too late. With lobbying being a thing, the people with the greatest amount of money have the most power, and unfortunately for us, fuel tycoons have a lot of money. I may not write much about this one, but it is just as significant as the other reasons in my decision to end myself. From an environmental standpoint, I think that we are completely screwed.

Due to my frequent school changes when I was little, I lost contact with all the friends I knew. That alongside gender dysphoria made me very socially withdrawn during high school, and I made very few close friends since 5th grade. And with how emotionally damaged I am, it is likely that I am far too broken to make new friendships without being excessively clingy. I do remember a time when I was part of a friend group with people who wouldn't judge me, but that was a very long time ago. Perhaps the sense of safety of belonging in a group would have helped me figure out myself earlier, and perhaps thing could have gone better. But that is all in the past now, I was never able to truly open myself up to anyone except for childhood friends. We haven't been in contact since I changed schools, and I don't even remember their full names. But I still remember their faces and the moments we spent together, and I've always missed them. They used to call me "Running in the Zoo", which was a word play based upon my deadname. Wherever they are now, I hope that they are doing well. Sometimes I dream of an alternate me who managed to transition early on spending time with them. These dreams are nice, I wish I could stay in them. I miss elementary/secondary school very much, the small class sizes meant that everyone was acquainted with each other. I miss simple things such as a class outing to a theatre play, I haven't been able to make new friends in uni due to my shy nature and the size of the classes. Around 300 students in a classroom and over 10000 on campus meant that one is essentially always surrounded by strangers. I miss the feeling of being part of a small community, I think that the entire population of my secondary school barely exceeded 600. I never was good at making new friends, but even so I did enjoy being around familiar people from school. Perhaps I would have been able to truly appreciate their company had I figured out earlier what my problem was. I guess I was too scared of being seen as "weird" due to my autism related quirks to actually let my guard down and allow people to get close to me. I hold many regrets over the past, and I do not believe that I can ever let go of them. Dying is the only thing that would make me feel better. I seem to be very prone to melancholy as an individual. Perhaps it is what makes me like rainy weather so much, when I sit in a quiet corner outside there is only the sound of rain and memories of a bygone era to keep me company while I contemplate the past. I sound like a grandmother. I suppose that I am one if we go by Club Penguin's age measuring system.

I grew up within a Christian family (protestant), but I kind of skipped the part about choosing a specific denomination and went right to the love and tolerance part… so I considered my purpose in life to be making the world a better place by whatever means necessary, including flipping tables and whipping money lenders if it came to that. I do not typically take a liking to the idea of violence, but I seem to adore the concept of flipping tables and bonking miscreants for reasons unknown. That brown guy named Jesus certainly knew how to entertain himself. Church songs were common when I was smaller, but I always thought the praise songs they made us sing were terribly dull and uninteresting. It seemed more like paying lip services than anything else… I actually kind of pitied the old man above, having to hear these same boring songs repeated countless times over millennia's, hypocrites singing songs about love and tolerance and completely forgetting such notions as soon as the song ends… it is a good thing he doesn't actually exist, otherwise that would have been torture.

Faith was the thing that helped me be resilient enough to be alive until now, it helped me get through many moonless nights. As cringey as it may sound, I used to call the old man in the sky "dad" when praying before sleep. It was reassuring to have the impression that someone wouldn't abandon me no matter what happens. Regrettably it turns out that individual never even existed to begin with. It was just me talking with my imaginary sock puppets this entire time, I am not sure if it even counts as a betrayal since it would be me betraying myself. Funny how even the illusion of hope can keep one going far beyond the point when they should have died, this reminds me of that experiment about the effect of hope on drowning rats. The ones without any hopes for rescue drowned within a quarter of an hour, while the ones who had hope for rescue held on significantly longer, some even lasting for days before their furry little bodies sank down to a watery grave. I guess that would certainly explain how I've managed to get this far even though I should have been dead a long time ago. I've always thought that there would be someone out there making sure that everything will be okay. The UK incident changed that by shattering my faith in an irreparable fashion, and I've been feeling very isolated since then. Not isolated as in not having friends, but isolated as in not having any allies in a hostile world. I do not want to exist in a world where good people get murdered senselessly. It shouldn't be happening. I do not understand why things like these are allowed to happen. I just… can't. I'm okay with the idea of myself being in pain since it's what I have always known and I am probably used to it by now, but I cannot tolerate the idea of other people having to suffer.

The loss of my faith following this incident has utterly annihilated my ability to function. I was already struggling to remain operational following a disastrous holidays season during which I realised I might be too clingy for healthy relationships, which was followed by New Year, then Chinese New Year… one reminder about my lack of a loving family is a handful already, but three of them one after the other…? For every single year of my remaining existence? Even with a faith to believe in I was having issues figuring out how I was going to survive another holidays season, let alone ~60 of them assuming I had an average lifespan. And then said faith got obliterated into a thousand pieces without a warning in February. With all the things I've been through, I did not think that it was something that could be broken, even if it felt brittle at times. And yet… it was. Fractured to pieces by something completely unanticipated. I never thought that I would die to the occurence of a complete stranger being murdered, and yet here I am… the moment I learned about the news I knew I was dead, I never figured out how and why it was able to shatter my last reason for living. I just know that it did.

Even though I used to employ religion as a steadfast bulwark against a depressing world, I've always disliked the idea that not following Jesus is a decision people make, that not believing in them is a choice. That those who decide to not believe would deserve to be in Hell, because they chose to. That is easy for us to say, when we've been living a relatively cosy life with abundant food and water, in countries where violence is comparatively uncommon. There are people in Iran whose daughter was raped and murdered by a bunch of religious zealots because she did not wear a piece of fabric on her hair, while the old man in the sky themselves remain silent. Was that really a choice for them? How could they believe in a "loving" god, when their followers are murderous rapists who target children with impunity? And yes, this kind of Scheiße applies to Christians too. Mormons communities raise their girls to be subservient to whatever future husband twice her age that her parents choose, and child molestation cases are routinely swept under the rug by churches "because that we should forgive as god forgave". They enable child abusers to do their deeds unpunished, while they pressure victims to keep quiet "because god forgave". Quite frankly I am disgusted at myself for believing in such a fad for so long. The church I used to attend believed that the couple of christians who got jailed for harassing people by repetitively stuffing whole-ass bibles in their mailboxes are the peak of martyrdom, while they completely disregard the fact that children are often killed or pushed towards suicide by a so-called "loving" religion. Ah yes we "insert religion name here" are the most persecuted people on Earth, while we start crusades against each other and commit unspeakable acts as our "loving" god watches on. Pagans bad amirite.

There is a difference between trusting a friend who helped you in the past, and trusting a complete stranger with whom one does not have any history. The thing that many stuck-up Christians fail to grasp is that god is a complete stranger for most people, with the only evidence of them being cool contained within writings that were repeatedly altered throughout history to suit the interests of third parties. All the while their followers are running around committing atrocities as if they were using the Geneva convention as a bucket list, and oppressing people under their "holy" name. "God is good", yeah right.

Now, I am aware that university students have a reputation for killing themselves due to academic stress (especially those from the one I am attending), but I would like to mention that in my case my university has not contributed to my death in any way. In fact, I would probably have killed myself with a second attempt in 2021 if it wasn't for it. Having classes to attend to gave me a sense of purpose, and moving to another province has also allowed me to get away from my birth parents after they cast me out. Had I stayed and studied in the same city as them, I wouldn't have been able to go outside without looking over my shoulder all the time and getting jumpy whenever I see the car model they drive. I do have to admit that there was a certain amount of stress I had to deal with, but it was insignificant compared to the other issues on my hands and I was able to do well during my first few semesters despite the depression from other things. Unfortunately I had to withdraw from all my courses this semester due to my faith system collapse from the disastrous holidays season and the UK incident, which crippled my abilities to learn or even be productive in general. They've been quite gracious and have been very understanding by providing me with accommodations and the such, I only wish that I could recover and live up to their expectations instead of disappointing them like this. I'm also quite sad about not having any classes to attend, going to them was one of the few things that gave me the impression I fitted in with my peers. The uni has been the place that felt most like home ever since I was disowned even though I do not live on-campus. I am not sure why, but I assume that it might be due to all my medical care providers being there, or just knowing that I can get help from there whenever it is needed. I wish so dearly I was able to repay them for what they have done for me instead of letting them down. Being here was a breath of fresh air that allowed me to live this much longer, but I suppose that my injuries eventually caught up with me. It was actually quite nice to be stressing over exams for a change, instead of being sad about my personal situation. It's the kind of stress that my peers usually deal with. I like it.

I believe the fault lies mostly upon myself when it comes to this monumental failure. I should have been more resilient, and I should have been able to figure out what my issue was and address it before first puberty occurred. It was unwise of me to have relied on an imaginary old man in the sky as my main source of support, I really set myself up for a collapse by using thin air as a cornerstone. And even though my situation sucks, I know that I am quite privileged. I live in a country where I shower with clean drinkable water (which would seem like an absurd misuse of resources in countries where potable water is a luxury), am well fed (even though I remain hopelessly skinny), have free healthcare, a top-tier education, the ability to exist without getting stoned/lynched for who I am, and am in an university that takes very good care of me. Far too many people in this world do not even have half of what I possess, the idea of others suffering a worse fate than me is a very uneasy one. If I am this sad with a life of relative comfort, then I cannot fathom how bad their misery must be.

That should have covered all my reasons to die. The fact is, merely one of these reasons would be sufficient to sink my will to live with my faith gone. Having five of them at the same time means that I will be sinked no matter what I or what others do, because all of these problems are extremely complex and none of them can be fixed in a timely manner. Absolutely *nothing* could have saved me. So, if you were acquainted with me in real life, it would be senseless to feel guilty about my fate because there is quite literally nothing that you could have done. Nada, Nichts, Rien. Nothing. So please do not feel bad about my passing, it was unavoidable. Do try to enjoy your existence among the living as best as you can, if there is an afterlife then we would have a lot of things to catch up on. And if one day you can no longer stand the living, then the dead would always welcome you (figuratively, we are generally busy being dead) if dying is your decision.

I suppose one of the things I am glad for is that I was able to attain some decent grades before dying, for once. I've always had deplorable grades prior to my transition due to dysphoria, so getting academic headpats (figurative—it's more of a list than actual headpats) from the Dean felt really nice. It is an embarrassment for me to admit it, but I seem to really enjoy an older adult's approval even though I am a fully grown adult myself. Kind of disgraceful really, I shouldn't need the approval of others to be able to feel happy. And yet it appears that I get an unreasonable amount of joy from getting praised by my seniors. How very immature of me.

While the idea of dying does seem somewhat unsettling now that I am at death's doorsteps, the proximity of the latter did also drive me towards doing things that I would not have done under normal circumstances. It's kind of a YOLO thing, really. I took the time to visit a library bar, and while that I was cruelly disappointed by the lack of readable books (apparently they are for decoration only), I did enjoy sitting there and sampling some some of their finest mocktails. Apparently there is one they call "Abstinence on the Beach", which is a name I cannot stop giggling at for some reasons. I have never been inside a proper bar before due to my timid nature, so this was an enlightening experience for me. I also went to a cinema for the first time since the beginning of COVID, the Barbie movie was surprisingly insightful for a film about plastic dolls. I have not been able to enjoy a book or go to a movie theatre for a while now, as I have the unfortunate tendency of submerging myself into imaginary worlds too deeply, and when it is time for me to leave—when I have turned the last page, or when the credits start rolling—I feel a certain sense of sadness that I cannot seem to shake off. It feels like going back out into a wintry night after taking a short rest at a warm café. In a sense, being on my figurative deathbed has allowed me to let my hair down a little.

One of my biggest regrets is that I never properly cherished the people that made my life just a little bit better. Due to the frequent school changes, I lost all of my childhood friends and had trouble opening up to others laters on due to my social ineptitude. In hindsight many tried to befriend me, but I came off as cold and distant which made that impossible. I was never really good at expressing gratitude, and struggled to tell people how much I appreciated their presence. Sometimes I think of all the friendships that I could have formed, I regret not having been able to open myself to others at that time. I also never told my favourite teachers how much I liked their class or thanked them for their dedication to their students. Due to my memory being terrible, I have not included everyone that made my life nicer, but I am thankful that my life has crossed path with so many kind people even if I am not able to remember their names.

After all, a two decades old Chinese trans girl with curly hair who lives in Canada and who was born in Germany is a highly unusual combination of traits that few would answer to. My online presence has been nonexistent as I've always employed false identities due to my penchant for privacy, so only people who were acquainted with me in real life would recognise these descriptors.

Some names were partially redacted as a security measure, as it would be theoretically possible to triangulate the identity of a person I knew from this list and obtain information that would enable a police intervention to take place. I am well-aware of the presence of other parties here, and I do not want that to happen. I have also looked up every single one of these names myself, and have taken the liberty to generate some false trails. Decoys are in play.

Laura:
For mentoring me while I was in kindergarten and for being the big sis that I always wanted to have.
Bemma?:
For mentoring me in kindergarten as well, and for being the second big sis I always yearned for. Having not one but two older siblings, one can dream…
Shiny?:
For being the first friend I ever had when I landed as an immigrant and for introducing me to the world of Pokémon.
Xinyue:
For being the mentor who helped me navigate a school system that was foreign to me.
Christina:
For being an amazing best friend and a reliable person. My life trajectory would not have been the same without them.
Tabea:
For helping me nurture my love for books and for introducing me to childhood depression through A Series of Unfortunate Events.
Elliot:
For being the goofy guy in the friend group. He would say the most hilarious things without even trying, and brings much-needed lightheartedness to serious conversations. His sheer overconfidence serves as a potent substitute for actual capability.
Edris:
For being the best friend that I could have ever wished for. Knowing him made my days better, and I fondly remember sharing a Twix bar with him on a summer day. The most amusing thing is that we first met by having an uncivilised physical argument with each other. They made us apologise for the scuffle, and the next day we were besties. Childhood friendships were certainly quite strange. I miss them.
Eric:
For being a good childhood friend whom I visited often, and for introducing me to the first cat I ever played with. Also for letting me empty his snack cabinet.
Quoiman:
For being a childhood friend that was probably a bad influence, but also a reassuring presence and a kind person at heart.
Film project teammates in L-D:
For unknowingly giving me the first instance of euphoria I ever experienced when I had to dress up as a woodland fairy for a 6th grade film project. I knew that it felt weird, but I did not know what it was at the time. I should have investigated things more instead of just dismissing my feelings, the answer was right in front of my face and I somehow missed it. Had I been able to take care of that problem earlier, I might have had a chance at a proper childhood. I suppose that it is the price that I have to pay for being an absolute imbecile.
Logan:
For being every bit as resourceful as his sister was. My childhood is practically paradise compared to the one they had. Their ability to survive on their own is baffling, few exhibit as much adaptability as they do. Quite a sly little fellow.
Wendy:
For being an absolute mood and reminding me that I am not the only one who sees death as the easy way out.
Abigail:
For being the protective bestie who would demolish any spiders that pestered one of her friends. Has an excellent recipe for meatballs that are particularly tasty in winter.
Max:
For being a friend who was patient no matter how annoying I was, and for being someone that one can always talk to when they feel down.
Aurora:
For being a humorous person who always came up with the cleverest jokes. Had an obsession with unicorns and hamsters. I vaguely remember her sewing a horn on her oversized hamster plushie. She called it a Hamicorn.
Diana:
For being a nice classmate who shared the same route to school with me. Her pet bunny sounded adorable as well. Had I been better at social things, we could have become very good friends, but alas, I wasn't.
Charlotte:
For being a connoisseur when it comes to hair dye. If someone has a question regarding hair, she would be the best person to ask. A reliable teammate in virtual games, and a merciless opponent at UNO.
Mohamed:
For being a friend and for laughing at silly things together. A little bit too pragmatic, but overall a good person with a kind heart.
Sophia:
For being a cheerful classmate who always cared for her peers. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and she often reached out to shy people in order to help them integrate into friend groups.
Camille:
For bearing with me as we worked to get through that nightmare of a mandatory tango class together. At the time I did not understand why I wanted the follower's part so badly, but I do now. Perhaps that I would have enjoyed the class more had I managed to prevent my first puberty.
Gabryelle:
For being a resourceful friend who showed me it was possible to improvise an adapt even at a young age. Few people our age were as capable as she was. Her slyness is unparalleled.
Ashley:
For being the funny classmate with a british accent. Her voice was very recognisable in the hallway. Likes mint ice cream.
Margot:
For being the the human equivalent of a golden retriever high on crack. The only thing that could rival her kindness would be her unfortunate addiction to energy drinks. She was quite the idealist as well, and unlike me, never lost her pink tinted glasses.
Beatrice:
For being a clever classmate and a tutor who helped me understand new concepts. A patient Spanish tutor who understood the subject like a native speaker (probably because it was her native language).
Laurianne:
For being an inventive friend who always takes the initiative no matter how unexpected the situation is. A brilliant strategist, and an even better friend.
Angélique:
For being an intelligent and altruistic classmate who dedicated much of her free time to tutoring struggling students.
Aneesa:
For being an enthusiastic and kind friend that welcomed me to a new city. Very knowledgeable in make-up, I would have loved to learn more from her had my blackout measures not taken place. Good luck with your X!
Charlotte:
For being a kind classmate with a nearly perpetual smile. Conversations with her are always entertaining, and her talent as an artist is unrivalled.
Naomi:
For being the best online friend I could ever have had. Her friendliness and cheerfulness has warmed many of my darker days. Has a little niece who is a bane to cupcakes, it must be fun to be an aunt as a young adult. I believe that she'll be an amazing one.
Sam:
For being a crafty friend who was particularly talented at controlling vehicles in virtual games. He had an obsession with aircraft and spacecraft if I remember correctly. I wonder if he is still following his dreams of becoming an aerospace engineer.

Mme. Lyne:
For being a kind and patient teacher who helped me deal with my crippling addiction to books (I usually had my nose in one during class, they were frequently confiscated)
Mr. Geoffrey:
For being the funniest/coolest teacher I ever had and for making my 5th grade so much better. I think that everyone at the school agreed that he's the most awesome one.
Mr. Harvey:
For being someone who was too cool to be a bio teacher. His enthusiasm can somehow make his class subject seem less dull, and he was famously known in school for a dive bomb made from the top of a diving tower. Has ginger hair.
Mr. Sirène:
For being a fun driver that was in charge of shuttling me to school daily. A pleasant old man, and often treated me to hot chocolate after school. Of course, the favour would be returned through chocolate gifts during the holidays.
Mme. Manseau:
For being a patient and fun teacher no matter how miserably I failed in her Spanish class. I remember getting 8% on the report card once. She had a dog named with a funny name, he was quite a good boi.
Mme. Picard:
For being an enthusiastic teacher who was somewhat eccentric in the best way possible. One can always expect interesting discussions with her, and she had a vast repertoire of random fun facts.
Mme. Roussel:
For being a devout teacher who cared for her students' success above everything else. She ran half of the remedial classes that existed, which is pretty impressive. Come to think of it, nearly all of the teachers from my high school were wonderful despite it being a public institution (ahem, underfunded).
Mme. Desranleau:
For being an excellent librarian and the dealer that supplied me with books during my high school years. I often sat in a quiet corner with a book in search of respite from reality.
Mme. Latil:
For being an amazing secretary whose voice is instantly recognisable on the intercom. Sweet and caring, I assisted her with some gardening tasks for some time.
P*****a family:
For sheltering me during my darkest hours and for letting me feel like I had a family, even if it was just for a little while.
Dr. H*****berg:
For keeping me in excellent health and being in charge of my transition care. A reassuring voice even in troubled times.
Dr. Fr***e:
For being an understanding psychiatrist who helped me with anti-depressant prescriptions. I have no doubts that these might have helped someone who wasn't as far gone as me recover.
UBC Counselling team:
For trying to help me recover through therapy. Even though the latter was completely ineffective on me, it was nice to have people to talk with.

Unknown Kassel Kindergarten;
I have fond memories of that place. They used to serve some kind of rice porridge with cinnamon and cherry jam, it was my favourite thing to eat.
E J-J:
For being the landing site that taught me French from scratch. It was the only place where I was bullied for no particular reason, but I liked certain teachers from there a lot.
E S-C-D-S:
For being the place that helped me create my fondest memories, and for granting me the happiness of being in a friend group, however short-lived that happiness was.
EIM:
For being the place with the nicest classmates. I wish so dearly I was able to be true to myself during this period and actually make friends.
UBC:
For being the only reason I lived through my darkest hours by giving me a sense of purpose. The effect has faded now, but I will always be grateful to that establishment for taking care of me so well in my time of need and welcoming me to a new city. I consider it to be the closest thing I have to a home at the moment. I am also grateful towards them for keeping me despite yours truly single-handedly tanking their ranking the very year I was admitted as a student.

I am thankful towards all the people who authored works of literature I have read, these imaginary universes had given me great solace during my teenage years. I did not know it at the time, but I was being crippled by gender dysphoria. These books allowed me to forget my pain while I was in them, and provided respite from a depressing world. There are far too many sad endings in reality, my favourite thing about books is that they usually have happy endings. I like these endings, even if they have nothing to do with me. Happy endings give me warm fuzzies

I usually keep tabs on everyone I knew via social media, but many of them do not have an identifiable online presence or have become inactive. I truly hope that they are doing well. I suppose one of the few nice things of being excessively shy is that I can be fairly forgettable to most people. Fading into the background is what I do best, so if everything goes according to plan nobody would even be aware of my passing. I have taken care of wiping what little online presence I had. People often grow apart and start new lives in different cities/countries, so if I lingered in someone's memory, with a little bit of luck they would believe that it is what happened to me.

Oh, and Bjb… suggesting that experiment to be conducted was probably one of the gravest mistakes I have ever made during my existence. I consider it to be a spectacular debacle from my part. For what it is worth, I am truly sorry, I would not have made that suggestion had I known how things would end.
 
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B

bluebus

meet me at the back of the blue bus
Aug 5, 2023
425
I read through your post, I am so sorry. I wish you all the love, light, and peace in the world. Best,
 
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Mxverick

Mxverick

Member
Aug 12, 2023
90
I can't remember the last time I cried, but it had a huge emotional impact on me. Wherever you are, I hope you are in a better place now:heart:;-;
 
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BlueMage

BlueMage

New Member
Aug 16, 2023
1
I'm sorry you had to go through all that, you don't deserve all that pain. I hope you can find peace whatever happens.
 
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locked*n*loaded

locked*n*loaded

Archangel
Apr 15, 2022
6,086
Octavia................It was an honor for me to read through your story; your thoughts, experiences, regrets, desires, hopes. You're a very special person and I hope, truly hope, that you've escaped the demons that plagued your existence in this place. The grace you've shown through such adversity is awe inspiring. I hope you've found your release and that all the peace you deserve is finally yours. RIP Octavia. RIP.
 
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G

Gonnerr

Enlightened
Mar 12, 2023
1,324
Good luck, i hope you set yourself free from this world this time.
 
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imonadeadline

imonadeadline

Call me Line! :P
Aug 15, 2023
82
I hope that it works out for you this time. It was nice seeing you on the forum, you will be missed. See you on the other side.
 
kindalone

kindalone

Student
Mar 1, 2023
187
It was always great reading your replies and posts. After reading about your cultural background, I sort of regret that I didn't message you in private. Being from asian descent and being a neurodivergent, I too feel the pain, that you may have gone through. Kinda funny that you were born Germany. I was, too. I think I will make some Milchreis mit Kirschen on your behalf. Farewell.
 
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S

spinningmyself

Member
Dec 31, 2022
50
I wish you all of the peace, happiness, and acceptance you should have had in your life. It hurts so very badly to hear your story, I am very honored to hear it though. You so very much deserve parents who love you unconditionally. ❤
 
S

swaraj

Dead Lilith
Apr 10, 2023
51
That is probably the most detailed last note I have ever had the honour to read. Wish you peace and love Octavia ❤️
 
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P

painful existence

Student
Jul 11, 2023
134
Rest in peace.
 
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Dead Already

Dead Already

-
Jul 14, 2023
84
Octavia,
With all that you have been through in life, you still had the time and courage to detail all for the world to see,
Will they listen, will anything be learned ?
So sorry to read about all of the bad things this cruel world put on you.
May you find the peace in death that was not obtainable in life.
Wishing you a swift and painless journey, be free at last.
 
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Per Ardua Ad Astra

Per Ardua Ad Astra

Malpractice: NeuroDystrophy-Paralysis-Meds-Injured
Sep 27, 2022
3,640
Per ardua ad astra 💫🕊️💛🙏
 
FuneralCry

FuneralCry

Tortured by evil humans
Sep 24, 2020
35,213
I hope you found the freedom you were searching for, rest in peace.
 
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Pidgeons_Sparrows

Pidgeons_Sparrows

-flying rat
Apr 16, 2023
628
Fuck... you aswell now? I never talked to you much but I saw you around here a few times. This is awful...
Im so sorry ... i hope youre atleast in peace now
 
Holu

Holu

Hypomania go brrr
Apr 5, 2023
556
I'm sick to my fucking stomach… I missed this. Wtf and how. Jesus fucking Christ I don't understand and I coulda sworn I saw you earlier today omg.

I hope you the absolute best, and am glad to know you are in a more peaceful place. Ik we are all suicidal, but you never struck me as someone who was soon to pass.

I rarely feel anger by deaths on here but this is one of those exceptions where I'm pissed at the world.

I'm really sorry for all you went through. I'm sorry for your suffering. I'm sorry for everything.

Thank you so very much for your time here. Thank you for comforting and helping others. Thank you for putting us before you.

Take care and farewell. Enjoy the peace of death. Your long battle is at last over.
 
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_smile_

_smile_

Student
Jun 26, 2022
131
I read through every word you wrote. I'm so sorry the world put you through what it did. I hope you have found the peace you truly deserve 💜
 
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Amidaa

Amidaa

How come we are brought here to just suffer
Aug 14, 2023
63
May you rest in peace Octavia, have a safe journey to your freedom 🤗
 
LonelyKitten

LonelyKitten

Seeking one final escape
Aug 13, 2023
284
Reading this hit like a *truck*. I can't put it into words. The suffering our kind goes through.
Yet you kept so graceful and kind, so measured, despite everything...
I hope you found/find the peace you desired.
 
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Sweet Tart

Sweet Tart

Arcanist
May 10, 2023
453
I'm reading this late and so sorry I missed it earlier. Sending you love and peace, wherever you are.
 
Unattainable666

Unattainable666

Enlightened
Mar 31, 2023
1,346
I have the highest respect for you and your bravery. I hope you find the peace you so justly deserve. Rest in peace.
 
Darkover

Darkover

Illuminated
Jul 29, 2021
3,938
hope to be joining you soon if i can get my hand on some legit sn
 
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Alcoholic Teletubby

Alcoholic Teletubby

Rip in piss
Jan 10, 2022
364
I hope you found peace.
 
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Leeroy14R

Leeroy14R

Member
Feb 25, 2023
28
I really didn't have to be this hard...
It really didn't have to be this long...
It really didn't have to be this painful...
I hope I can join you soon. I hope this is the last life.
You did well. You chose not to play the game...
 
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abidegraveside14

abidegraveside14

silly
Aug 21, 2023
3
read every word. you were very well-spoken.
i hope you found the peace that you desired.
 
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35alcoholics

35alcoholics

ratman
Jul 3, 2023
14
Note: This post was sent using a scheduled time. It is probably that I am busy being dead, so I apologise if I cannot reply to anyone. Mods, please disable this account on the 18th of August if there is not any further activity.

I must admit did not exactly expect my last words to number in the thousands, nor that I would even share them on a public forum. I had not left any farewell letters behind as I intended to make my departure as discreet as possible, and I've been cutting off all contact with everyone I knew since New Year to prevent people from learning of my fate. I do not expect this to be found, I anticipate that the information blackout would be sufficient to ensure nobody would know what became of me. But sometimes things do not go according to plan, so this would serve as a contingency measure of sorts. Hence the absurd amount of words, if anyone sought for answers I can no longer provide myself, then hopefully they would find something that would bring them peace here. I have also included some demographic information about myself in case it is useful for anything.

Please allow me to me preface things by writing that this site has not contributed to my death in any way. My decision was made in February 2023, and I would have been able to eventually get my hands on a dying method without this site. I was initially planning to employ fast acting compounds such as cyanide or pentobarbital due to my body cleanup plans involving a prompt response from the authorities, however my attempts to acquire them were unsuccessful as faking a hazmat-certified address is beyond my abilities. SN does seem like a very tranquil way to go, but I disregarded it until now since it had the disadvantage of requiring a private space for an extended period of time, which might be problematic.

As for introductions, I am a trans woman living in Canada and I am over two decades old. I would never have thought that I would live this long, but I guess life can be full of surprises. Ethnically speaking I should be Chinese, however from a cultural standpoint I am pretty much Canadian as I grew up here and never really liked the backward values my progenitors ran on. I do not blame them too much, they nearly spent their entire lives in China and were raised by poorly educated parents in a society that is still quite bigoted to this day. When it comes to linguistics I have native-level fluency in both French and English, and I am capable of verbal communication in Mandarin although I rarely speak the language due to the bad memories I associate with it.

Here are some details about my medical history. I was diagnosed with autism and ADHD when I was little, a diagnosis that my birth parents hated due to how taboo mental health topics are in Chinese culture. They also had an aversion towards the idea of taking medicine, so I never had access to Concerta until that I made it to university. The list below provides information on the effects of each condition that I noticed.

Autism: a penchant for getting squeezed alongside the exhibition of excessive immaturity on rare occasions.

ADHD: constant daydreaming and a very high need for stimuli. I have trouble focusing on tasks that I find dull despite my best efforts, and tend to fixate on things I find interesting.

I doubt that this would be helpful for anything other than demographic censuses, but when it comes to romantic/sexual orientation I should be biromantic and demisexual. From a strictly technical standpoint I'm probably closer to being pan than bi, but I cannot stand the pan flag colour palette so I guess I'm bi.

As for my mental faculties, I should be sound of mind (I think? I mean, loopy people aren't exactly aware that they're missing marbles) and mediocrely intelligent. I vaguely remember having an IQ of around 134 when my progenitors got me tested, which goes to show that such a metric is horrendous at measuring practical intelligence given yours truly's failure to notice the monumental problem I had on my hands until it was over half a decade too late.

No self-harm history, unless that usage of a TENS unit counts. I got myself cooped up in a psych ward for nearly a month once due to an early retirement attempt, which I guess was fair as I might have been too transparent about the amount of preparation involved. A riveting place with complimentary French opera performances at 2am, but I would rather not enjoy its hospitality a second time.

When it comes to physiology, I have always been extremely skinny despite my best attempts to fatten up by stuffing myself with unhealthy things that barely qualify as food. The lack of progress on gaining weight is probably due to an excessively fast metabolism, which is kind of odd as I usually have low stamina. Quite frankly it is surprising I have not gotten diabetes yet, with the absurd amount of sugar I consumed.

Phys stats:
Weight: 57kg
Height: 175cm (~183cm pre-transition, but HRT made me shrink)
BTD/STD: never tested, but highly unlikely to have any.
Muscular strength: weaker than the average cis girl pre-transition, and now even weaker due to HRT. Probably due to being severely underweight.

My medicinal history is pretty boring in the beginning, but it got interesting in the past two years. Nothing notable until I was 19, I discovered that gender transitions were possible at 18 but was only able to start a medical transition a year later after I got kicked out. Here is a list of meds that I have employed in the past, alongside their dosage and effects.

Type: anti-androgen
Status: discontinued, replaced by spirolactone
Dosage: 2x25mg per day
Effects: heightened prolactin levels, eradication of testosterone levels
Notes: This is what initiated my transition. It was replaced in favour of spirolactone due to high prolactin levels being a cause of concern. It was also more commonly used in Quebec, while that British-Columbia typically employs spiro.

Type: oestrogen
Status: currently in use, sublingual
Dosage: 3x2mg per day
Effects: Heightened oestrogen levels, slightly increased appetite, softer skin, less body hair, stronger immune system, significantly decrease in physical strength, body feminisation, drastically lowered suicidal tendencies from gender dysphoria, and more tears when crying.
Notes: Ah, the magic little green pill that would have solved nearly all my problems had I been made aware of its existence earlier. It is what has kept me alive until now, and I would definitely have ended myself years earlier without it. I'm still going to die, but I will die much happier knowing that I am dying as my authentic self. And with fantastic skin too, asian genes are one of the few nice things my Chinese birth parents gave me. Heaven when it comes to having less masculine physiology, and Hell in terms of culture.

Type: bioidentical progesterone
Status: currently in use
Dosage: 1x100mg per day, suppository
Effects: increased appetite, higher energy levels, slightly better feminisation (I think?)
Notes: From what I know this hormone seems to be working in conjunction with oestrogen. There has been hearsay about this medication helping people get better feminisation, however there is little research on the topic for the time being.

Type: anti-androgen
Status: currently in use
Dosage: 2x100mg
Effects: eradication of testosterone levels, aggravation of sodium cravings
Notes: It made me crave salty things even more than my pre-spiro self, who already had a salty diet. I would quite literally be licking at table salt on some days when I was bored, it is fortunate that I had the habit of drinking plenty of water during the day. Not my favourite anti-androgen, but it does its job well enough and I have other matters to attend to. I was planning to switch to Bicalutamide once I was under less pressure, but I guess I will not be making it that far.

Type: anti-depressant
Status: discontinued, replaced by wellbutrin
Dosage: 1x10mg per day
Effects: slightly lowered depression, sleep issues
Notes: It helped somewhat and made my sleep schedule weird. My situational depression was not that bad at the time, so the medicine is not at fault. Replaced by wellbutrin due to the effects not being sufficient for my present sadness.

Type: anti-depressant
Status: currently in use
Dosage: 1x300mg/day
Effects: decreased appetite, lowered ability to cry, sleep issues
Notes: Completely ineffective, but only because that my situational depression is so bad it would be unrealistic to expect any medication to be capable of making a difference. I doubt that even ECT (electro-convulsive therapy, it is much more civilised than it sounds) would have an effect, given that my depression is not caused by a chemical imbalance or something similar.

Type: anti-depressant
Status: discontinued
Dosage: 2x25mg
Effects: decreased appetite, drastically decreased ability to cry, occasional heartburns, feeling bloated, sleep issues
Notes: Also completely ineffective, due to the nature of my depression. Quite an unpleasant medicine to be honest, but I suppose that the least I could do is to let my shrinks try every method they can think of if I am going to end myself soon. I am actually a little bit sad to see them spend so much effort on me while knowing that their efforts are doomed. I stopped taking it cold turkey after some months as all it did was giving me heartburns. I did not notice any ill-effects from the abrupt stop to its use, and my medical providers were informed of it.

Type: anti-depressant
Status: currently in use
Dosage: 1x15mg/day
Effects: weight gain, falling asleep faster
Note: This was supposed to be complementing zoloft, but I kept using it after discontinuing the latter as it helped me sleep and gain weight.

Type: anti-depressant
Status: currently in use
Dosage: 4x37.5mg/day
Effects: mild heartburns, minuscule increase in energy
Note: Ineffective aside from some small changes. I'm sure it would have helped many people, the absence of noticeable improvement can be attributed to my depression being situational in nature.

Type: ADHD med
Status: in reserve
Dosage: 1x36mg
Effects: increased focus, higher energy levels
Notes: I have a small reserve with me that is intended to be used during certain periods such as exam seasons. It helps a lot with focus, but I would rather not use it all the time as I am scared of developing a dependence to it. And as odd as it may sound, I kind of enjoy being air-headed and dreamy most of the time. Being grounded in reality can be a terribly depressing experience.

As for my psychotherapy history, I am lucky enough to have access to ample mental health resources, even though it pains me to know that all these efforts would ultimately be in vain. Despite its lack of results, I did enjoy therapy since I do not get chances to talk with people often. It also helped me process the events that happened, and I am not as worried about being truthful that I would be if I were with a friend given that professionals can handle themselves. Of course, I was careful with discussing suicide-related things as I do not enjoy being cooped up inside a psych ward. My shrinks are aware that I am severely suicidal, but as long as I do not tell them that I have the intent to die in the very near future, they cannot put me into the sadness jail nor would they want to. Most professionals here agree that putting someone who is perfectly rational into a psych ward would do more harm than good, which is nice as I can talk about everything except the specific date on which I would end myself.

I worked with a private therapist in the past, but for the last 6 months I have been seeing the on-campus psychotherapist and the psychiatrist. I see the therapist on a weekly basis, while my meetings with the psychiatrist occur on a much a lower frequency. They all seem like genuinely good people who want to help, which makes me feel awful as I know very well how things would end. I also occasionally check in with an on-campus general practitioner who is in charge of my transition meds and depression meds, and while that she does not provide me with therapy per se, talking with her does bring me a lot of comfort even though it does nothing for my death wish. As rotten as my luck was when it comes to the family I was born in, I feel like I am extremely fortunate to have access to kind professionals such as them.

I have received all the help I could ever wish for, and yet… I suppose some individuals just cannot be saved, no matter how hard people try. So the point of this is, if you have known me in real life, there is absolutely nothing you could have done. If three top notch professionals with free rein (I was very cooperative and tried every single depression med they suggested) working together failed to achieve any observable results, then there is nothing that could have been done.

The first attempt was not as intricate as the one I am making now, probably because that I did not expect it to fail.

Location chosen:
A hidden corner of a park I remember from my childhood, on a rainy day.

Preparations:
The preparations were fairly simple for this one, I ordered some supplies such as tubes and tape from Amazon and looked up a store that sold pure helium (without any oxygen in it). The store itself might have tampered with it, since, well, I am still here. I used weather forecasts to plan for doing it on a rainy day, as fewer people are present outside during rain and it is also my favourite weather. I scheduled several goodbye emails for my friends and an emergency services email to be sent 30mins after my attempt, as I needed them to clean up the scene before any bystanders notice the not-so-alive person next to a helium tank. A map with the location of my body was also attached.

Before attempting:
Not much of a fancy procedure here, just basic hygiene and a 48 hours fast to prevent my dignity from being ruined by sphincter failures.

The attempt:
I enjoyed a little walk near another childhood site I remember, then I headed straight for the park and hid myself in a spot among the foliage that I used to hide in when I was little. I spread out a picnic sheet since I disliked laying down in wet soil, then laid down on it and duck-taped two hermetic plastic bags (double layered) to my head. I must have looked ridiculous. I remember being afraid of what awaits me on the other side as my hand rested on the valve, and all I felt when I opened it was a blast of cold air within the bag. A few seconds later I was out, then for some reasons I woke up right before the paramedics and the police arrived. It was extremely embarrassing to bother them with a dead body that wasn't dead as promised, and I must admit that I felt ashamed of being such a failure that I even managed to fail an exit bag attempt. I got shipped off to a local hospital's psych ward after this.

My primary planned method for dying was MAID due to my desire to better the lives of others through organ transplants, as knowing my body will help prevent loved ones from being separated would have brought me a great deal of comfort prior to my death. Unfortunately Canada has decided to delay the bill that would have made MAID possible by an entire year, so I suppose I would have to do it myself.

I ceased communications with pretty much everyone I knew as an attempt to mitigate the emotional damage I would be causing, and while that it felt terribly lonely to do what I did, I believe the decision to be necessary. I know people have a tendency to blame their lack of action when a loved one commits suicide, and torture themselves with the question of whether they could have made a difference. By blocking all of them I ensured that they never even had a chance to make a difference, so I hope that it would at least spare them from feeling guilty in the wake of my death. It is quite a callous way to handle the situation, but I do not have any better ideas for reducing the amount of pain I would inflict upon them.

The second attempt is somewhat more intricate than the first one, as I am now post-transition and actually care about my appearance. I've managed to bluff my way into registering some business accounts with industrial/chemical suppliers, however my lack of a hazmat-rated address would ultimately result in the failure of this version of the plan.

Location chosen:
A secluded area near a vast lake on a rainy day.

Preparations:
The preparations for this one were a little bit more complicated, as I needed a fast method that is guaranteed to end me and also had to worry about how the body would be handled. The method would be potassium cyanide powder obtained from industrial suppliers, the substance was selected based upon the way I am supposed to get my body disposed of. The latter involves leaving it in a concealed public area, so a swift death and body recovery would be preferable. An email would be scheduled for delivery to the local emergency services 5 minutes after the time of the attempt, as cyanide is supposed to act fast and I did not want any bystanders to try to resuscitate me, given that if someone tried to give me the kiss of life it would probably turn into the kiss of death for them. A map highlighting the predetermined dying spot chosen during a previous survey of the area would be attached to the email, alongside geographic coordinates in case they get lost. At the time of my first suicide attempt I still kind of looked like a boy and therefore could not have cared less if my next of kin (birth parents) buried me in a suit, so I did not have to make any post-mortem plans back then. Now that I look quite nice in the clothes I have chosen for myself, I would prefer if my sense of fashion was not tampered with after my passing. Given that next of kin usually gets to decide what happens to the body of a deceased person, I have no doubts that my progenitors are going to cut my hair short and put me in a suit to cover up the entire thing for their relatives in China. And while that I have nothing against suits—in fact, I think that a red one might be quite snazzy—the suit that my progenitors would choose is definitively going to be one of those hideous abominations that would make a tailor throw themselves out of a window. In order to prevent that from happening, I have prepared a will and met with a law firm to make things easier for my appointed executor. The memorandum of wishes contained instruction for my remains to either be used for medical purposes or for science, and regardless of what happens to it I would have it cremated and the ashes disposed of in a irrecoverable fashion (I would rather avoid going into an urn that bears the insolent name I was given at birth).

Before attempting:
Concerns about sphincter failures are still present, so I have obtained one of these colonoscopy prep kits in order to flush my internal systems thoroughly after a 48h fast. Not the most pleasant procedure to go to, but I'll live (and then die).

The attempt:
Ah, the simple part. I will be going to the predetermined spot, spread out a picnic sheet, lie down, and take the poison. Much simpler and reliable than my first attempt, I would be very surprised if I woke up from this one. It's actually quite funny how SN is an antidote for cyanide, if I did not double check my info I might have tried to stack both methods together which would have yielded a most humiliating result. Two methods that are completely lethal on their own, and yet somehow nullify each other. Nature certainly has a strange sense of humour.

Mostly the same as version 1, except with N this time and an increased delay before alerting the authorities. Due to pentobarbital not being as toxic as cyanide, it might have been possible to keep salvageable organs if I was precise with the timing. This was foiled due to a lack of references for a passport application, which required two references that knew for for at least two years (everyone that fit the criterion was cut off as part of my damage control measures). The plan was to fly to Mexico and acquire pentobarbital with the help of local contacts, then smuggle it back while disguising it as perfume. I could certainly have gotten ahold of some acquaintances to serve as references, however having them play a part in my demise would result in unacceptably high levels of collateral damage.

I was planning to smuggle the N through border inspection by disguising it as a cosmetic product. The substance has a very distinct smell, being similar to the one a permanent marker would give off, which might have caught the attention of inspectors. Luckily some creative kook out there developed a brand of Sharpie-scented perfume (yes, the permanent marker. Fascinating creatures we are, aren't we?), so rebottling the liquid would take care of suspicions should they smell test my things.

Due to my paranoiac nature I made plans for some bodyguard arrangements, as Tijuana has the unfortunate reputation of being the place where tourists get kidnapped. My asian features would make me look out of place, and given the unreliability of Mexican law enforcement I would not be able to count on them should something happen. An US-based bodyguard that can blend in with the locals would be needed, since a visible bodyguard might make some miscreants believe that I am worth protecting and think that I am some rich heiress who can be ransomed for a lump sum of money. Unfortunately for them, I have been disowned so there won't really be anyone to pay such a ludicrous fee (if I were to appraise myself the value would be negative), and unfortunately for me, my captors would probably not be too happy about that fact. And while that I do not mind dying at all, it is unlikely that I would be granted that mercy and I would very much prefer to avoid becoming a source of income for them. Part of me is relieved that I won't have to execute this version of the plan, since it is significantly more complicated than the other ones and so many things can go wrong with it. Planning border crossings make the few braincells I have left hurt.

Fairly similar to the process of version 1, except that I am now dying indoors. I would have very much preferred to see nicer sights prior to dying, but I guess that SN is too risky to use outside due to it being slow acting.

I am using Stan's protocol, with Ibuprofen, Dimenhydrinate (AE subtitute), and Remeron (auro-mirtazapine), 60h fast beforehand and 2h water fast before attempting.

I have been ordering a dozen of jumbo sized ice packs off the internet to line my bed with, as I dislike the idea of a dead body lying around for a few hours during summer. They should be sufficient to cover the entire bed according to my measurements, with a little bit of luck it would be enough to slow down decomposition. Same internal purging process as before, the upside of staying indoors is that I won't be as exhausted from the fast.

Now, while that I consider myself to be very old—museum worthy old—I understand that many people would see me as a little bit young to die. So, here are my reasons for dying.

I think that the following things are the main reasons for my demise:

Unfortunately it seems that I was not lucky enough to be born into the right family. It would have been an okay family for someone who is cishet and neurotypical, but I do not seem to be fulfilling these criteria. I was diagnosed with ADHD/slight autism when I was little, and I don't think that my progenitors took the news very kindly due to them being raised with conservative Chinese values. Whether they realised it or not, they raised me to be ashamed about the occasional differences I exhibited which led me to have very distant relations with them. Of course, I lived under the same roof as them and they fed me reasonably well, but I seldom confided to them and I never really let them know my inner feelings. I might also have been repressing the latter myself, as I mistook my gender dysphoria for a weird quirk from autism that must be stifled so that I can be "normal".

They did not take the news of me not being cis very well either and went down right-wing rabbit holes at an impressive pace, I assume that it is mostly due to these sources telling them what they wanted to hear. My birth mother believed that Trump was the second coming of Christ, I would have been thoroughly entertained by that absurd notion if I wasn't under the same roof as her. Living with them became very unpleasant as they were convinced that I was being brainwashed and mind controlled by some secret gay organisation, and called me delusional on a daily basis. They even went so far as to check through the correspondences on all of my personal devices, and made me cease contact with my best friend/ex because they thought that she was transing my gender as part of the gender studies class she took back in CEGEP. Quite frankly I would have found the idea to be hilarious if it did not make them do things that I would never have thought them to be capable of. They told me that I would not be welcome to live with them anymore if I was to start HRT, and also threatened to slander the reputation of my best friend who they blamed for everything. I was desperate for their acceptance and overextended my trust despite it being broken repetitively, which ultimately resulted in my first serious attempt at ending myself. My improvised exit bag failed me despite all the precautions I took regarding the gas purity, and I got stuck in a hospital while that my progenitors went on about how other people will never respect me if I do not even have respect for my own life. Even though I never planned to live on, somehow I was still hurt by their callous reaction to my retirement attempt and their continued refusal to let me undergo a hormonal transition despite the pleas of the hospital staff. I eventually got myself discharged with the assistance of a friend, and went on to live without them in my life. It was scary, but it also felt freeing to be in an environment without screaming people. I was able to start medically transitioning, which significantly lessened my dysphoria for a period of time. But I still felt very lonely and isolated.

Holidays seasons were particularly rough, as everywhere I went I saw advertisements about spending time with one's family and the such. I have tried finding a chosen family, but it just does not feel the same and I always feel like an outsider or a guest. A very honoured guest, but a guest nonetheless. I am far too old to be adopted and too young to marry into a new family, so I do not think that I would be getting one anytime soon. The things I went through also made me extremely needy and clingy to the point of becoming a liability for any potential partners, therefore it would be highly irresponsible of me to find one as I am far too broken to be capable of being a healthy individual with a healthy relationship. The idea of finding a romantic partner does appeal to me as having someone to cuddle with and confide in would be nice, however I fear that I may have ulterior motives when it comes to them. You see, while that I would be interested in my significant other, I would be even more interested in their family due to my need of one. This opens up the possibility of me using my would-be partner as a means to an end, which would be as unethical as it sounds. And also weird, since marrying someone for their family members is as peculiar as it gets. Even gold digging makes more sense than whatever that is. As such, I do not believe that love is something that is destined for me. I'd rather not ruin such a wholesome concept. I don't think that I will ever find a new family, at least not soon enough to prevent my death… Having Octavia Goetia as my namesake and even adopting her sense of fashion has brought me a great deal of comfort, however it also pains me very much as I know that I will never have a loving parent like she does. I selected her as my transition goal due to how achievable her looks were for me, but there is little that one can do about being born to horrendous parents. And as much as I dislike admitting it, I also have a deep fear of abandonment rooted within myself. It seems that the gravest mistake I have made in my life is to be hopelessly reliant on others for how I feel. At least I will be dying in a stylish outfit, I suppose it is one of the few things that can still make me smile.

I feel like I can't blame my birth parents too much either, I think the way they were raised never really prepared them to be good parents. I'm not even sure why they even had me. Perhaps it was merely for the purpose of continuing their bloodline. I guess that they were just trying to make their parents proud. Morons. I suppose that it is easier to think of one's upbringing as strict and efficient than to admit that they were abused during their entire childhood. Whichever ancestor of mine who thought that hitting children and screaming at them is the best way to raise them is a massive prick. I must admit that I do feel a little bit of glee at the thought of ending their bloodline, since my younger sister isn't considered to be capable of bloodline continuity due to cultural values that are severely outdated. Quite fitting to have this cactus of a family tree lose a branch because of their own outdated beliefs. Come to think of it, their interest in me is likely due to them seeing me as their male heir. Which is unfortunate, given that I have been very zealous when it comes to a medical transition, and, well, my enthusiasm with anti-androgens has effectively removed me from the human gene pool.

I do not believe that things can ever be mended between my birth family and I. They made an immense amount of mistakes while raising me, but I was ready to forget about all of them and wipe the slate clean if they were accepting, or even if they just sat back and let me do my thing. That period of time was a pivotal moment, and I did try very hard to emphasize to them how important their actions were in determining what our future relationship would be. But… they just had to ruin it. The moment has passed, and the way things are have been set in stone. Their stalking tendencies only worsens things. Perhaps some of the fault lies on my part, I shouldn't have made myself excessively emotionally vulnerable in my desperation for their acceptance. I should have overextended less, and should have employed a more cautious approach. But the past is in the past, so I would have to live (well, die) with the results of my mistakes.

I am confident that my sister would be treated well by them, given that she is likely cis and het, and they would be very careful with their remaining child. They would owe a lot of explanations to their relatives in China if both of their offspring went poof. She is quite the smart cookie and also perfectly "normal" according to their standards. I guess they would finally be able to be the perfect Chinese family they always wanted to be, and impress their relatives with the grades of their daughter to their heart's content. I doubt I would ever have fit into such a picture. Not that I wanted to, personally I find Chinese culture to be terribly dull and shallow. The only nice things I got out of being born to Chinese parents are the asian genes, which mitigated the damages my first puberty caused.

I never really admitted it because of me being very prideful, but given that I am quite literally on my deathbed, I suppose that embarrassing confessions wouldn't be bothering me in the grave. All I ever wanted was to have parents who truly loved me and who were proud of me. That is my deepest desire, there is nothing in the world I covet more than that. I guess that some things are just not meant to be.

As far as I can remember, I always wished I was born a girl. Prior to discovering that transition was possible, my life plan was just to live life and die as my assigned gender and hopefully do well enough that God (I was religious) would let me reincarnate as a girl with loving parents, which was pretty much my idea of paradise. In hindsight it was an incredibly stupid plan, but I was brainless back then and did not know that I was not supposed to hate living as a boy. Nobody ever told me that it was okay to switch genders, or even that it was possible. I only found out about gender transitions when I was 18 year old, by stumbling upon egg memes on the internet. It was illuminating, but I wish so dearly that I knew about this avenue earlier. I don't think that I'll ever get over the fact that I was unable to prevent my first puberty, I absolutely despise the things that testosterone did to my body. When the changes started happening I hated them to the point of wishing I was dead, but I thought that it was the same for everyone and that I will eventually get used to it... The lack of a girl childhood leaves me with the feeling of having a void within myself, there is just so much emptiness in my past. I wish I was able to build nicer memories than me spending all my time in fictional worlds contained within books, and being miserable whenever I was not daydreaming or reading something. All those years of agony, and the solution was just one prescription away... I'm happy about the effects that HRT has on my body, but I think that it is too late for me. Due to recent developments I no longer believe that an afterlife exists, so I will never get to have a girl childhood, ever. I should have been smarter, I should have realised that something was wrong before that disaster of a first puberty happened. I should have tried to fix things in reality instead of escaping into novels and imaginary worlds. But it is too late now, there are so many things that I regret not doing. Since starting HRT, I actually felt alive for the first time in my life, but I do not believe that anything would be able to fill the space within me that was supposed to be occupied by a proper childhood. I am glad that I was able to figure out who I truly was before my death, even if the realisation came over half a decade late.

As odd as it may sound, my selection of a transition goal was more because of her dad than because of herself. No matter how many custom outfits I commission, how good I become at make-up, or even how talented I get at reproducing her fashionably depressed British accent, I will never be able to replicate the experience of having a loving father, because that it is completely out of my hands. I should have taken action myself instead of asking an invisible old man in the sky to grant my dearest wish every single night. I did also ask them to make me dead quite often, so I suppose that I would have to make that happen myself as well.

I always hated my reflection in the mirror and the way my voice sounded in recordings. My current appearance is… acceptable, I guess. I can pass well enough to go into the proper bathroom without anyone batting an eyelid, but I haven't been able to fix the voice issue yet due to depression, which is quite inconveniencing. In hindsight the signs were so obvious too, I should have investigated them instead of just dismissing them as a weird quirk from autism. I remember feeling very embarrassed during a certain grade 6 project in which I had to dress up as a woodlands fairy, but it was not because I was wearing a dress. I distinctively remember looking down and thinking the outfit would look so much nicer if I wasn't as flat as the blackboard. So obvious, and yet it went right over my head. To think that the solution to all nearly all of my problems back then were contained within a tiny unassuming green tablet… Truth be told, I would't have minded being trans at all if I had loving parents and was able to explore my identity issue before first puberty. Not having a period like most girls did would have bothered me a little, but it wouldn't have been a disastrous situation compared to what I have on my hands at the moment.

I think that this might have to do with regrets than anything else. Even though I have the feeling that generally speaking I am quite pretty and pass fairly well, I still obsess over the smallest imperfections I think that I have. Many cis girls over criticize their appearance as they grow up even though they look fine by most standards, and some even try ending themselves over it. I guess that it's kind of the same thing for me, except that I could actually have prevented these imperfections from occurring had I been smarter and more resourceful, which makes the feeling so much worse. The regrets I hold are quite simply excruciating, I wish so dearly I was able to prevent that calamitous testosterone-based puberty. By failing to accomplish that, I essentially let the potential me who could have been happy in life die… and my failure is going to result in my own demise too. I suppose this is what I deserve, I wish my end could be more painful. My endeavours related to cyanide acquisition have been halted by my lack of a Hazmat certified business address, and I do not have the willpower to cut myself until I bleed to death. I do not believe in an afterlife so I am expecting oblivion, but if it turns out I am wrong… I think that I would be going to wherever the equivalent of Hell is. Perhaps that the pain would burn away all the memories that make me sad. Maybe I will even get to forget myself, if I am fortunate. I just hope that gender dysphoria wouldn't be on the torture menu, because if it is, I'm going to cry.

While that most would consider empathy to be a good thing, I feel like I have far too much of it. Even though my empathy being overtuned grants me the benefit of gaining a small amount of happiness when I see my peers doing well, it has the significant drawback of making me prone to despair when I see them suffering. In an utopian world it would have been a blessing since it'll be free serotonin for days, but I am afraid that in the one we live in this ability is a curse. While that I am quite mature regarding many aspects (especially in the suffering department), there is a childish idealistic part of me that just wants everyone to get along with each other and be happy. But as I grew up it became more and more apparent that greed and hatred are governing this planet, and I do not think that it would be possible for me to change that. Not on a large scale, anyways. Seeing and knowing that there is this much pain in this world greatly saddens me, and I would rather not have to deal with this feeling for the rest of my natural lifespan. It is hard for me to stomach the fact that people around the world who are just like me (not only trans people, but generally speaking) are going through horrors and pain that I cannot even fathom. And many are much younger than I am, it is a very difficult thing for me to process. So many children die to school shootings, get raped/murdered by theocratic regimes, or have their innocence taken away by adults that they trusted. I am just so disgusted by how vile society can be, I wish I could go back to my childhood naivety of believing that everything will be okay no matter how dire things may seem. I miss the rosy glasses I used to have when looking upon the world. And even if I somehow found them again, I doubt that I will be able to put them back on.

While that all the other reasons I have listed have worn out my emotional health, I consider the finishing blow to be something horrible that happened in the UK. Back in February a 16 year old trans girl was murdered by two of her classmates. And… she had a loving family. Loving parents, loving siblings, even loving grandparents, and in TERF island of all places. Her situation was a miracle, it is already so very rare for a trans person to have an entire supportive family, but in addition to that she was also able to prevent her first puberty. She would have become a fine lady if she had a normal lifespan, there was much potential in her. But then some jerks just had to stab her to death for being herself. It is unfair how a happy trans person who is loved by her family had to die, while that the depressed husk that is yours truly gets to keep living on. From an emotional standpoint she was infinitely more valuable than I ever could be. And just to add insult to injury, she will be buried under her deadname because of some stupidly rigid laws. Everything about this makes me feel bad to the point of crying every single time I think of it. I am not even sure why I am so affected by this incident as I am not even acquainted with the victim and we have absolutely nothing in common except for having both taken a massive L upon birth. I suppose I feel an unexplainable sense of kinship towards other trans people.

It is possible that I might have some sort of survivor's guilt. There are far too many trans people who are getting murdered for existing while that I am sitting pretty in a relatively safe country like Canada, and in many countries the situation is worsening. I am not able to assist them, and I know that ending myself would not help them in any way, but at least it would make me stop feeling bad. It feels so wrong for me to live past my current age while that a little one with a loving family had to die at 16. As hypocritical as it may sound, I am deeply disturbed by the idea of someone younger than me dying, against their will no less. Her situation was a miracle, but she still had to get murdered… and her parents who loved her so dearly now have to deal with the fact that their daughter was killed just because of who she was. On most nights I am haunted by the thought of her being scared as she bled out in the dark. I… don't understand how this could have happened. This specific incident has completely and utterly shattered my faith, which was the main thing that kept me going forward despite all the unpleasantries I went through. I used to be a Christian even though I did not really affiliate myself with their more mainstream beliefs, but I did believe that there was a higher being who was watching over us. I could rationalise the bad things that happened to me as trials or punishment that I deserved, but this…? This is just… I don't know. Awful does not even get close to covering it. It makes me feel like slamming my head into the nearest wall when I think about it, and I am someone who shies away from that kind of violence. This has positively sapped whatever remained of my will to live after the holidays season, I think that it makes me feel a mixture of despair and frustration. Her death leaves me with an inexplicable sense of failure. That should not have happened. She made people happy, she brought joy to her family. This is just wrong. It is so rare for a trans child to have a loving family, and they just had to ruin it. I am able to gain small amounts of bittersweet happiness when I hear of trans children having supportive parents, and I must admit that knowing there are other trans people whose lives are going better than mine is a major source of comfort for me. But this… this is the equivalent of someone who is used to watching puppy videos for the happy brain molecules suddenly seeing a video of puppies getting tossed into a wood chipper for zero reason at all. That gives me I-want-to-die brain molecules. I've been focusing on other people's suffering because that I am afraid of facing mine. But even then my empathy would result in me feeling awful, I will die whether I am tormented by the suffering of others or my own. Screw this reality, I am done. Miss me with that Scheiße, if life is meant to be an unjust farce then I want no part in it.

Even though I was greatly saddened by my own familial circumstances, I was able to draw a great amount of comfort from the knowledge that there are loving and accepting families out there, who would help their trans child discover themselves instead of disowning them. Being in the situation I am in didn't feel as bad when I was able to tell myself "Oh hey things might look spicy on our side, but I'm sure that they are going better for the others. We'll be fine.", but now…

On the few occasions when I feel a semblance of bliss while doing an activity (i.e. reading, watching something, playing a virtual game) I will always get reminded about the incident and suddenly whatever I was doing becomes a gruelling chore, and my fleeting light-heartedness turns into a deep desire to unexist on the spot. Following that I either cry, force myself into sleeping, or just start polishing details about my departure. It might be one of the reasons why my final note is so long, given that once I have taken care of the logistics for my death, the only thing I can do is write as I wait for the components to arrive… nothing to do but put my misery down into words. It helps me process it better, in a way.

And the horrible stories I mentioned do not even scratch at the surface of all the depressing things in the world that I am aware of. I've developed the habit of reading newspapers in high school, and maintained a habit of being up to date about the things that happen in the world. It feels wrong to be happy when there are so, so many things to be sad about. I mean, I am pretty okay with myself being in a miserable situation since I probably deserve it, but other people having their happiness ripped away like that? Unacceptable. The incidents that has been happening in countries such as Iran… When I still believed in an afterlife, I was at least able to tell myself that they are in a better place, but now… seeing innocent souls extinguished just like that causes me a great deal of anguish. The idea of ceasing to exist feels scary, but at least I won't be sad anymore. The few fleeting moments of joy I experience are shadowed by the sinking realisation that people such as Brianna will never get to experience nice simple things like sunrays dotting the shade of a tree. I'm quite fine about the idea of me being in purgatory as I have developed the ability to be extremely cold and distant towards myself, but I cannot bear the sight or even the thought of other people suffering. Sometimes it feels like the world is burning down around me, and I feel so powerless about everything that is happening. I am just a single person with barely enough energy to turn in my essays on time, without divine support, I… cannot do anything to help. And I despise that fact so very much.

My ability to leech off other people's happiness has served me well, but I guess I should have foreseen this happening. It is very ironic that one of the things that has kept me alive for so long would also end up being the thing that ended me. I wouldn't have it any other way.

I have been aware of our climate problems since I was in high school, through the newspapers and by attending protests. But it seems like very little has changed since then, we are still barrelling towards a global 2 Celsius increase in temperature. It might seem like a small number, but it is the difference between life and extinction for countless animal and plant species that are vital to the human world. Not only would such a change cause unprecedented waves of climate refugees, but it would also cripple food supply chains when food producing countries get affected. And there are still muppets out there who think that it is a conspiracy made up by "the libs" and are too caught up in culture wars to care. Of course, forms of green energy are on the rise, but they will not become prevalent until it is far too late. With lobbying being a thing, the people with the greatest amount of money have the most power, and unfortunately for us, fuel tycoons have a lot of money. I may not write much about this one, but it is just as significant as the other reasons in my decision to end myself. From an environmental standpoint, I think that we are completely screwed.

Due to my frequent school changes when I was little, I lost contact with all the friends I knew. That alongside gender dysphoria made me very socially withdrawn during high school, and I made very few close friends since 5th grade. And with how emotionally damaged I am, it is likely that I am far too broken to make new friendships without being excessively clingy. I do remember a time when I was part of a friend group with people who wouldn't judge me, but that was a very long time ago. Perhaps the sense of safety of belonging in a group would have helped me figure out myself earlier, and perhaps thing could have gone better. But that is all in the past now, I was never able to truly open myself up to anyone except for childhood friends. We haven't been in contact since I changed schools, and I don't even remember their full names. But I still remember their faces and the moments we spent together, and I've always missed them. They used to call me "Running in the Zoo", which was a word play based upon my deadname. Wherever they are now, I hope that they are doing well. Sometimes I dream of an alternate me who managed to transition early on spending time with them. These dreams are nice, I wish I could stay in them. I miss elementary/secondary school very much, the small class sizes meant that everyone was acquainted with each other. I miss simple things such as a class outing to a theatre play, I haven't been able to make new friends in uni due to my shy nature and the size of the classes. Around 300 students in a classroom and over 10000 on campus meant that one is essentially always surrounded by strangers. I miss the feeling of being part of a small community, I think that the entire population of my secondary school barely exceeded 600. I never was good at making new friends, but even so I did enjoy being around familiar people from school. Perhaps I would have been able to truly appreciate their company had I figured out earlier what my problem was. I guess I was too scared of being seen as "weird" due to my autism related quirks to actually let my guard down and allow people to get close to me. I hold many regrets over the past, and I do not believe that I can ever let go of them. Dying is the only thing that would make me feel better. I seem to be very prone to melancholy as an individual. Perhaps it is what makes me like rainy weather so much, when I sit in a quiet corner outside there is only the sound of rain and memories of a bygone era to keep me company while I contemplate the past. I sound like a grandmother. I suppose that I am one if we go by Club Penguin's age measuring system.

I grew up within a Christian family (protestant), but I kind of skipped the part about choosing a specific denomination and went right to the love and tolerance part… so I considered my purpose in life to be making the world a better place by whatever means necessary, including flipping tables and whipping money lenders if it came to that. I do not typically take a liking to the idea of violence, but I seem to adore the concept of flipping tables and bonking miscreants for reasons unknown. That brown guy named Jesus certainly knew how to entertain himself. Church songs were common when I was smaller, but I always thought the praise songs they made us sing were terribly dull and uninteresting. It seemed more like paying lip services than anything else… I actually kind of pitied the old man above, having to hear these same boring songs repeated countless times over millennia's, hypocrites singing songs about love and tolerance and completely forgetting such notions as soon as the song ends… it is a good thing he doesn't actually exist, otherwise that would have been torture.

Faith was the thing that helped me be resilient enough to be alive until now, it helped me get through many moonless nights. As cringey as it may sound, I used to call the old man in the sky "dad" when praying before sleep. It was reassuring to have the impression that someone wouldn't abandon me no matter what happens. Regrettably it turns out that individual never even existed to begin with. It was just me talking with my imaginary sock puppets this entire time, I am not sure if it even counts as a betrayal since it would be me betraying myself. Funny how even the illusion of hope can keep one going far beyond the point when they should have died, this reminds me of that experiment about the effect of hope on drowning rats. The ones without any hopes for rescue drowned within a quarter of an hour, while the ones who had hope for rescue held on significantly longer, some even lasting for days before their furry little bodies sank down to a watery grave. I guess that would certainly explain how I've managed to get this far even though I should have been dead a long time ago. I've always thought that there would be someone out there making sure that everything will be okay. The UK incident changed that by shattering my faith in an irreparable fashion, and I've been feeling very isolated since then. Not isolated as in not having friends, but isolated as in not having any allies in a hostile world. I do not want to exist in a world where good people get murdered senselessly. It shouldn't be happening. I do not understand why things like these are allowed to happen. I just… can't. I'm okay with the idea of myself being in pain since it's what I have always known and I am probably used to it by now, but I cannot tolerate the idea of other people having to suffer.

The loss of my faith following this incident has utterly annihilated my ability to function. I was already struggling to remain operational following a disastrous holidays season during which I realised I might be too clingy for healthy relationships, which was followed by New Year, then Chinese New Year… one reminder about my lack of a loving family is a handful already, but three of them one after the other…? For every single year of my remaining existence? Even with a faith to believe in I was having issues figuring out how I was going to survive another holidays season, let alone ~60 of them assuming I had an average lifespan. And then said faith got obliterated into a thousand pieces without a warning in February. With all the things I've been through, I did not think that it was something that could be broken, even if it felt brittle at times. And yet… it was. Fractured to pieces by something completely unanticipated. I never thought that I would die to the occurence of a complete stranger being murdered, and yet here I am… the moment I learned about the news I knew I was dead, I never figured out how and why it was able to shatter my last reason for living. I just know that it did.

Even though I used to employ religion as a steadfast bulwark against a depressing world, I've always disliked the idea that not following Jesus is a decision people make, that not believing in them is a choice. That those who decide to not believe would deserve to be in Hell, because they chose to. That is easy for us to say, when we've been living a relatively cosy life with abundant food and water, in countries where violence is comparatively uncommon. There are people in Iran whose daughter was raped and murdered by a bunch of religious zealots because she did not wear a piece of fabric on her hair, while the old man in the sky themselves remain silent. Was that really a choice for them? How could they believe in a "loving" god, when their followers are murderous rapists who target children with impunity? And yes, this kind of Scheiße applies to Christians too. Mormons communities raise their girls to be subservient to whatever future husband twice her age that her parents choose, and child molestation cases are routinely swept under the rug by churches "because that we should forgive as god forgave". They enable child abusers to do their deeds unpunished, while they pressure victims to keep quiet "because god forgave". Quite frankly I am disgusted at myself for believing in such a fad for so long. The church I used to attend believed that the couple of christians who got jailed for harassing people by repetitively stuffing whole-ass bibles in their mailboxes are the peak of martyrdom, while they completely disregard the fact that children are often killed or pushed towards suicide by a so-called "loving" religion. Ah yes we "insert religion name here" are the most persecuted people on Earth, while we start crusades against each other and commit unspeakable acts as our "loving" god watches on. Pagans bad amirite.

There is a difference between trusting a friend who helped you in the past, and trusting a complete stranger with whom one does not have any history. The thing that many stuck-up Christians fail to grasp is that god is a complete stranger for most people, with the only evidence of them being cool contained within writings that were repeatedly altered throughout history to suit the interests of third parties. All the while their followers are running around committing atrocities as if they were using the Geneva convention as a bucket list, and oppressing people under their "holy" name. "God is good", yeah right.

Now, I am aware that university students have a reputation for killing themselves due to academic stress (especially those from the one I am attending), but I would like to mention that in my case my university has not contributed to my death in any way. In fact, I would probably have killed myself with a second attempt in 2021 if it wasn't for it. Having classes to attend to gave me a sense of purpose, and moving to another province has also allowed me to get away from my birth parents after they cast me out. Had I stayed and studied in the same city as them, I wouldn't have been able to go outside without looking over my shoulder all the time and getting jumpy whenever I see the car model they drive. I do have to admit that there was a certain amount of stress I had to deal with, but it was insignificant compared to the other issues on my hands and I was able to do well during my first few semesters despite the depression from other things. Unfortunately I had to withdraw from all my courses this semester due to my faith system collapse from the disastrous holidays season and the UK incident, which crippled my abilities to learn or even be productive in general. They've been quite gracious and have been very understanding by providing me with accommodations and the such, I only wish that I could recover and live up to their expectations instead of disappointing them like this. I'm also quite sad about not having any classes to attend, going to them was one of the few things that gave me the impression I fitted in with my peers. The uni has been the place that felt most like home ever since I was disowned even though I do not live on-campus. I am not sure why, but I assume that it might be due to all my medical care providers being there, or just knowing that I can get help from there whenever it is needed. I wish so dearly I was able to repay them for what they have done for me instead of letting them down. Being here was a breath of fresh air that allowed me to live this much longer, but I suppose that my injuries eventually caught up with me. It was actually quite nice to be stressing over exams for a change, instead of being sad about my personal situation. It's the kind of stress that my peers usually deal with. I like it.

I believe the fault lies mostly upon myself when it comes to this monumental failure. I should have been more resilient, and I should have been able to figure out what my issue was and address it before first puberty occurred. It was unwise of me to have relied on an imaginary old man in the sky as my main source of support, I really set myself up for a collapse by using thin air as a cornerstone. And even though my situation sucks, I know that I am quite privileged. I live in a country where I shower with clean drinkable water (which would seem like an absurd misuse of resources in countries where potable water is a luxury), am well fed (even though I remain hopelessly skinny), have free healthcare, a top-tier education, the ability to exist without getting stoned/lynched for who I am, and am in an university that takes very good care of me. Far too many people in this world do not even have half of what I possess, the idea of others suffering a worse fate than me is a very uneasy one. If I am this sad with a life of relative comfort, then I cannot fathom how bad their misery must be.

That should have covered all my reasons to die. The fact is, merely one of these reasons would be sufficient to sink my will to live with my faith gone. Having five of them at the same time means that I will be sinked no matter what I or what others do, because all of these problems are extremely complex and none of them can be fixed in a timely manner. Absolutely *nothing* could have saved me. So, if you were acquainted with me in real life, it would be senseless to feel guilty about my fate because there is quite literally nothing that you could have done. Nada, Nichts, Rien. Nothing. So please do not feel bad about my passing, it was unavoidable. Do try to enjoy your existence among the living as best as you can, if there is an afterlife then we would have a lot of things to catch up on. And if one day you can no longer stand the living, then the dead would always welcome you (figuratively, we are generally busy being dead) if dying is your decision.

I suppose one of the things I am glad for is that I was able to attain some decent grades before dying, for once. I've always had deplorable grades prior to my transition due to dysphoria, so getting academic headpats (figurative—it's more of a list than actual headpats) from the Dean felt really nice. It is an embarrassment for me to admit it, but I seem to really enjoy an older adult's approval even though I am a fully grown adult myself. Kind of disgraceful really, I shouldn't need the approval of others to be able to feel happy. And yet it appears that I get an unreasonable amount of joy from getting praised by my seniors. How very immature of me.

While the idea of dying does seem somewhat unsettling now that I am at death's doorsteps, the proximity of the latter did also drive me towards doing things that I would not have done under normal circumstances. It's kind of a YOLO thing, really. I took the time to visit a library bar, and while that I was cruelly disappointed by the lack of readable books (apparently they are for decoration only), I did enjoy sitting there and sampling some some of their finest mocktails. Apparently there is one they call "Abstinence on the Beach", which is a name I cannot stop giggling at for some reasons. I have never been inside a proper bar before due to my timid nature, so this was an enlightening experience for me. I also went to a cinema for the first time since the beginning of COVID, the Barbie movie was surprisingly insightful for a film about plastic dolls. I have not been able to enjoy a book or go to a movie theatre for a while now, as I have the unfortunate tendency of submerging myself into imaginary worlds too deeply, and when it is time for me to leave—when I have turned the last page, or when the credits start rolling—I feel a certain sense of sadness that I cannot seem to shake off. It feels like going back out into a wintry night after taking a short rest at a warm café. In a sense, being on my figurative deathbed has allowed me to let my hair down a little.

One of my biggest regrets is that I never properly cherished the people that made my life just a little bit better. Due to the frequent school changes, I lost all of my childhood friends and had trouble opening up to others laters on due to my social ineptitude. In hindsight many tried to befriend me, but I came off as cold and distant which made that impossible. I was never really good at expressing gratitude, and struggled to tell people how much I appreciated their presence. Sometimes I think of all the friendships that I could have formed, I regret not having been able to open myself to others at that time. I also never told my favourite teachers how much I liked their class or thanked them for their dedication to their students. Due to my memory being terrible, I have not included everyone that made my life nicer, but I am thankful that my life has crossed path with so many kind people even if I am not able to remember their names.

After all, a two decades old Chinese trans girl with curly hair who lives in Canada and who was born in Germany is a highly unusual combination of traits that few would answer to. My online presence has been nonexistent as I've always employed false identities due to my penchant for privacy, so only people who were acquainted with me in real life would recognise these descriptors.

Some names were partially redacted as a security measure, as it would be theoretically possible to triangulate the identity of a person I knew from this list and obtain information that would enable a police intervention to take place. I am well-aware of the presence of other parties here, and I do not want that to happen. I have also looked up every single one of these names myself, and have taken the liberty to generate some false trails. Decoys are in play.

Laura:
For mentoring me while I was in kindergarten and for being the big sis that I always wanted to have.
Bemma?:
For mentoring me in kindergarten as well, and for being the second big sis I always yearned for. Having not one but two older siblings, one can dream…
Shiny?:
For being the first friend I ever had when I landed as an immigrant and for introducing me to the world of Pokémon.
Xinyue:
For being the mentor who helped me navigate a school system that was foreign to me.
Christina:
For being an amazing best friend and a reliable person. My life trajectory would not have been the same without them.
Tabea:
For helping me nurture my love for books and for introducing me to childhood depression through A Series of Unfortunate Events.
Elliot:
For being the goofy guy in the friend group. He would say the most hilarious things without even trying, and brings much-needed lightheartedness to serious conversations. His sheer overconfidence serves as a potent substitute for actual capability.
Edris:
For being the best friend that I could have ever wished for. Knowing him made my days better, and I fondly remember sharing a Twix bar with him on a summer day. The most amusing thing is that we first met by having an uncivilised physical argument with each other. They made us apologise for the scuffle, and the next day we were besties. Childhood friendships were certainly quite strange. I miss them.
Eric:
For being a good childhood friend whom I visited often, and for introducing me to the first cat I ever played with. Also for letting me empty his snack cabinet.
Quoiman:
For being a childhood friend that was probably a bad influence, but also a reassuring presence and a kind person at heart.
Film project teammates in L-D:
For unknowingly giving me the first instance of euphoria I ever experienced when I had to dress up as a woodland fairy for a 6th grade film project. I knew that it felt weird, but I did not know what it was at the time. I should have investigated things more instead of just dismissing my feelings, the answer was right in front of my face and I somehow missed it. Had I been able to take care of that problem earlier, I might have had a chance at a proper childhood. I suppose that it is the price that I have to pay for being an absolute imbecile.
Logan:
For being every bit as resourceful as his sister was. My childhood is practically paradise compared to the one they had. Their ability to survive on their own is baffling, few exhibit as much adaptability as they do. Quite a sly little fellow.
Wendy:
For being an absolute mood and reminding me that I am not the only one who sees death as the easy way out.
Abigail:
For being the protective bestie who would demolish any spiders that pestered one of her friends. Has an excellent recipe for meatballs that are particularly tasty in winter.
Max:
For being a friend who was patient no matter how annoying I was, and for being someone that one can always talk to when they feel down.
Aurora:
For being a humorous person who always came up with the cleverest jokes. Had an obsession with unicorns and hamsters. I vaguely remember her sewing a horn on her oversized hamster plushie. She called it a Hamicorn.
Diana:
For being a nice classmate who shared the same route to school with me. Her pet bunny sounded adorable as well. Had I been better at social things, we could have become very good friends, but alas, I wasn't.
Charlotte:
For being a connoisseur when it comes to hair dye. If someone has a question regarding hair, she would be the best person to ask. A reliable teammate in virtual games, and a merciless opponent at UNO.
Mohamed:
For being a friend and for laughing at silly things together. A little bit too pragmatic, but overall a good person with a kind heart.
Sophia:
For being a cheerful classmate who always cared for her peers. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and she often reached out to shy people in order to help them integrate into friend groups.
Camille:
For bearing with me as we worked to get through that nightmare of a mandatory tango class together. At the time I did not understand why I wanted the follower's part so badly, but I do now. Perhaps that I would have enjoyed the class more had I managed to prevent my first puberty.
Gabryelle:
For being a resourceful friend who showed me it was possible to improvise an adapt even at a young age. Few people our age were as capable as she was. Her slyness is unparalleled.
Ashley:
For being the funny classmate with a british accent. Her voice was very recognisable in the hallway. Likes mint ice cream.
Margot:
For being the the human equivalent of a golden retriever high on crack. The only thing that could rival her kindness would be her unfortunate addiction to energy drinks. She was quite the idealist as well, and unlike me, never lost her pink tinted glasses.
Beatrice:
For being a clever classmate and a tutor who helped me understand new concepts. A patient Spanish tutor who understood the subject like a native speaker (probably because it was her native language).
Laurianne:
For being an inventive friend who always takes the initiative no matter how unexpected the situation is. A brilliant strategist, and an even better friend.
Angélique:
For being an intelligent and altruistic classmate who dedicated much of her free time to tutoring struggling students.
Aneesa:
For being an enthusiastic and kind friend that welcomed me to a new city. Very knowledgeable in make-up, I would have loved to learn more from her had my blackout measures not taken place. Good luck with your X!
Charlotte:
For being a kind classmate with a nearly perpetual smile. Conversations with her are always entertaining, and her talent as an artist is unrivalled.
Naomi:
For being the best online friend I could ever have had. Her friendliness and cheerfulness has warmed many of my darker days. Has a little niece who is a bane to cupcakes, it must be fun to be an aunt as a young adult. I believe that she'll be an amazing one.
Sam:
For being a crafty friend who was particularly talented at controlling vehicles in virtual games. He had an obsession with aircraft and spacecraft if I remember correctly. I wonder if he is still following his dreams of becoming an aerospace engineer.

Mme. Lyne:
For being a kind and patient teacher who helped me deal with my crippling addiction to books (I usually had my nose in one during class, they were frequently confiscated)
Mr. Geoffrey:
For being the funniest/coolest teacher I ever had and for making my 5th grade so much better. I think that everyone at the school agreed that he's the most awesome one.
Mr. Harvey:
For being someone who was too cool to be a bio teacher. His enthusiasm can somehow make his class subject seem less dull, and he was famously known in school for a dive bomb made from the top of a diving tower. Has ginger hair.
Mr. Sirène:
For being a fun driver that was in charge of shuttling me to school daily. A pleasant old man, and often treated me to hot chocolate after school. Of course, the favour would be returned through chocolate gifts during the holidays.
Mme. Manseau:
For being a patient and fun teacher no matter how miserably I failed in her Spanish class. I remember getting 8% on the report card once. She had a dog named with a funny name, he was quite a good boi.
Mme. Picard:
For being an enthusiastic teacher who was somewhat eccentric in the best way possible. One can always expect interesting discussions with her, and she had a vast repertoire of random fun facts.
Mme. Roussel:
For being a devout teacher who cared for her students' success above everything else. She ran half of the remedial classes that existed, which is pretty impressive. Come to think of it, nearly all of the teachers from my high school were wonderful despite it being a public institution (ahem, underfunded).
Mme. Desranleau:
For being an excellent librarian and the dealer that supplied me with books during my high school years. I often sat in a quiet corner with a book in search of respite from reality.
Mme. Latil:
For being an amazing secretary whose voice is instantly recognisable on the intercom. Sweet and caring, I assisted her with some gardening tasks for some time.
P*****a family:
For sheltering me during my darkest hours and for letting me feel like I had a family, even if it was just for a little while.
Dr. H*****berg:
For keeping me in excellent health and being in charge of my transition care. A reassuring voice even in troubled times.
Dr. Fr***e:
For being an understanding psychiatrist who helped me with anti-depressant prescriptions. I have no doubts that these might have helped someone who wasn't as far gone as me recover.
UBC Counselling team:
For trying to help me recover through therapy. Even though the latter was completely ineffective on me, it was nice to have people to talk with.

Unknown Kassel Kindergarten;
I have fond memories of that place. They used to serve some kind of rice porridge with cinnamon and cherry jam, it was my favourite thing to eat.
E J-J:
For being the landing site that taught me French from scratch. It was the only place where I was bullied for no particular reason, but I liked certain teachers from there a lot.
E S-C-D-S:
For being the place that helped me create my fondest memories, and for granting me the happiness of being in a friend group, however short-lived that happiness was.
EIM:
For being the place with the nicest classmates. I wish so dearly I was able to be true to myself during this period and actually make friends.
UBC:
For being the only reason I lived through my darkest hours by giving me a sense of purpose. The effect has faded now, but I will always be grateful to that establishment for taking care of me so well in my time of need and welcoming me to a new city. I consider it to be the closest thing I have to a home at the moment. I am also grateful towards them for keeping me despite yours truly single-handedly tanking their ranking the very year I was admitted as a student.

I am thankful towards all the people who authored works of literature I have read, these imaginary universes had given me great solace during my teenage years. I did not know it at the time, but I was being crippled by gender dysphoria. These books allowed me to forget my pain while I was in them, and provided respite from a depressing world. There are far too many sad endings in reality, my favourite thing about books is that they usually have happy endings. I like these endings, even if they have nothing to do with me. Happy endings give me warm fuzzies

I usually keep tabs on everyone I knew via social media, but many of them do not have an identifiable online presence or have become inactive. I truly hope that they are doing well. I suppose one of the few nice things of being excessively shy is that I can be fairly forgettable to most people. Fading into the background is what I do best, so if everything goes according to plan nobody would even be aware of my passing. I have taken care of wiping what little online presence I had. People often grow apart and start new lives in different cities/countries, so if I lingered in someone's memory, with a little bit of luck they would believe that it is what happened to me.

Oh, and Bjb… suggesting that experiment to be conducted was probably one of the gravest mistakes I have ever made during my existence. I consider it to be a spectacular debacle from my part. For what it is worth, I am truly sorry, I would not have made that suggestion had I known how things would end.
Wishing the best for you
 
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jarik

jarik

Student
Jun 12, 2024
160
I read the post, I'm so sorry. have a good trip
 

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