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May 1, 2020

I’m not actively suicidal right now – I don’t even know how I’d kill myself if I were – but I don’t see any value in living the rest of my life.

In middle school I decided not to kill myself because I wanted to experience college before I died. I figured that I’d die sometime in my mid-20s. Well, now I’m graduating (supposing that I pass Calculus), and my younger self seems surprisingly prescient. People ask me about my plans for life after college, but I don’t have any because I don’t really want to have a life after college.

I decided to major in computer science even though I was never good at math or science to begin with – I just liked the power that being able to code seemed to give me. But without math skills I’ll never accomplish anything important in the field, and that basically cuts off academia as an option.

So I guess need to get a job, and programming is the only thing I’m remotely capable of. But pretty much every company that hires programmers is either evil (like Google/Facebook/Amazon/Uber/Palantir) or useless (like Slack/MongoDB/Every single VC-Funded Startup). So, not much to look forward to.

Not that long ago I was thinking of moving to France – I’d probably have to go to grad school to get a visa, but it would at least be cheap over there and I could probably get through a master’s degree. But when I think about it more, it seems ridiculous. I can barely handle simple adult interactions in English – sometimes I can’t do stuff as simple as ordering food. So moving someplace where my language skills are only so-so would just be asking for trouble. So I’ll have to stay in this rotten country with no culture or public transportation or vacation time. Oh, and it’s probably going to be ruled by the dumbest person on earth for another four years since the democratic nominee seems to have given up on campaigning.

My transition feels like a complete failure. Estrogen has done very little over almost four years – it took away some muscle, gave me boobs that are invisible under a light sweatshirt, and maybe filled filled out my cheeks by a few cubic millimeters. Oh, and it killed my sex drive and made the skin on my ass wrinkly. I’m too anxious to do almost anything that would make me feel more feminine. I dress super androgynous and I never wear makeup because I’m afraid of messing up with it.

I'm twenty-fucking-one and I'm on an anti-androgen and finasteride, but I'm still experiencing male-pattern baldness.

Lately I’ve been more sad than usual about how I’ll probably never have a partner. Having started progesterone probably has something to do with it – I’ve been craving for affection more than ever. But as a non-passing trans woman with extreme social anxiety, no one would want me, and even if they did and I didn't end up running away from it, I don't think I’m psychologically healthy enough to handle being in a relationship in the first place.