The sentence still rings in my mind, not because of how much it irritates me but because of how inherently true it is. And it was said to me by my mom, who not long before that, also felt the need to tell me directly that she doesn't care about how I feel, nor if I hurt myself. Thanks for supporting me, mom.

After already struggling with a potent and vicious envy, the degree of which literally nobody can comprehend, not even myself at times, this has really made me feel great because I've already been doing so well mentally to begin with. Living life, constantly shadowed by someone who feels the exact same, just better. 

Disturbingly similar tastes, attributes, ideas, and one particular concept. A concept they executed first, because unlike me, they're smart, and put their years of childhood into crafting something awe inspiring, something I *should've* done by now.

And oh boy, this envy has never let up because of how perfectly it all lines up and enunciates all of my shortcomings. Constant crying, nightmares, panic attacks, and many points of a gun to my head. I'm nineteen, and they're a year younger than I am, which really tells how close I was.

All of these desires and concepts, too bad they were stuck in a shithead brain like mine so I could only watch everyone similar sprout and bloom into something significant and prodigious. Something I should have done. Unfortunately, I wasn't meant to accomplish any of that.

Oh and damn it feels great reaching out to various artists for tips, advice, anything, even the ones I mention here, and being met with radio silence every time. So I'm all alone, drawing my fucking boxes knowing I'm not going to go anywhere. No meaning to anyone, not much meaning to myself either. Only thinking about everything I could've done by now, how great of an artist I probably would've been by now. Knowing I have years of roughly pushing through my atrocious nonexistent art 'skills' before it even starts resembling anything I want it to be, when I have virtually no willpower left.

Could've started anytime back then, but I gotta start now. Which as it turns out, is something I can't do. I'm late, and too comically screwed in a lot of ways to have any hope of accomplishing jack shit. All I can do is think about that version of me that was smarter. Bullshit.

Everything with me is just bullshit, and I'm the moron for not seeing it sooner. I wouldn't have wasted so much time trying to do fucking anything or building anything I never had the strength to complete, if I knew how much it ultimately wouldn't change a thing. I'm surprised the universe hasn't spelt out in the clouds that I should just kill myself.

What a fool I was, thinking I could've done shit. Should've just offed myself while things still had some semblance of tranquil. But I have to exit now, from an irreversible clusterfuck I was never meant to survive. Thanks, life.