classify text [harassment, self-harm, religion insult, sexist, hate, racist, safe for work, psychiatric or mental illness, porn]

teks: The more I think about suicide, the more enticing it becomes.If you think about it enough it becomes kind of like a fantasy. Death slowly loses its terror. It seems rational, because that’s literally what your brain is doing. It’s rationalizing it. 

The thought of not having to deal with the pain anymore seems like such a relief. I don’t think killing yourself is weak. I think it’s a release after having to be strong for too long.

I’m convinced that I simply wasn’t meant for life. I look at some people and envy the hell out of them. I’m jealous of happy, free, attractive people. I’m jealous of their lives. I’m jealous of their looks. I’m jealous of everything they have that I never got the chance to have.

I’m 19 years old. That’s not a long time to be alive, but it’s an age where one can decide whether or not the rest of their life is worth living. Mine is not. 

I don’t have hope that it will get better. How could it get better? Nothing about my circumstances are things I can change, and the things I *can* change have already damaged me psychologically. My life has always sucked. There are people who become depressed at certain points in their lives, but I am not one of those people. I’ve always had a shitty, meaningless life. I hate it so much. 

There are certain things I want to do before I die, but after I do them I’m signing off. It’ll probably be by 21 or 22. 

The bullying. The abuse. The social rejection. The mental illness. The self-hate. The self-disgust. The confusion. It’s TOO much for one person to handle. I can’t handle it anymore. I have no one who will truly miss me anyway.
self-harm