Do you ever feel like someone was sent from Hell.o World! to break the carefully constructed illusion of You that you've been self-sacrificially cultivating for 8 years (you know, because "I'm such a good person"), and your finger might just be dying and falling off because you ignored hurting it 3 weeks ago and it is sort of comforting to feel a part of your human-body, even if it hurts, and the political climate has you feeling 17 again: unable to imagine the (adult) world in four years, so you assume you'll never make it to 21..?
So you decide that faking your own death and leaving the country might be your only option. (apparently my terminally ill namesake asked for a closed casket so that his friends and family could never know, could imagine him living on--sounds pretty evil)
I have 10k liquid and a car...this might be the realest post I've ever written. I might actually just die though too...so, you should probs trust the dental records. Do I have life insurance? I should have turned 21...
*this is so darker than intent*
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