I can't handle my life.
I have no support network, and all my "friends" either don't care or have too much of their own stuff to deal with to offer help to me.
Therapy is taking far too long. How do they expect anyone to get better if I can only see my therapist every two weeks?
I'm poor. I have few opportunities to get out of this predicament.
I'm disabled, but since it's one of those "invisible" disabilities, people tend to assume I'm 100% alright even when I'm not... and even then, because I'm a man, people assume that I *should* pull myself up because "men don't cry."
I'm transsexual and gay. Gay guys usually don't deal with transpeople, and most who do only do it for the novelty of dating (and other things) a transperson. I'm not a fetish! I'm a human being!
My family rejects me because of who I am. My father refuses to believe I'm male, and when my brothers fight with me, suddenly I'm their sister again.
I have Bipolar II, generalized anxiety disorder, PTSD,Borderline Personality Disorder, a history of mental and emotional child abuse, agoraphobia and possibly have Avoidant Personality Disorder as well.
I have few friends, and those who do say they care either can't offer much help or ignore my problems and "use" me for my kindness.
I suffer from fibromyalgia, type II diabetes, asthma, and have multiple chemical and sensory sensitivities. Simply stepping outside my front door is an exercise in sheer agony.
I thought I was doing fairly well until about four weeks ago, when I met someone on Facebook and have since fallen in love... infatuation. He doesn't want to commit to a relationship, even though he has strong feelings for me, until we've met in person. Because he's still in college and without a job at the moment, and I'm too disabled to go back to work myself, the chances of us meeting before Thanksgiving at the earliest are so slim they may as well not exist.
I've totally lost interest in most everything that used to bring me pleasure. I can't focus on my reading. Video games only give me more space to think about my sorry life. I can't write anymore since I've run dry of ideas for the last three years. I hate everything I attempt to draw. I feel fat and ugly, I'm losing my hair. I live in constant pain.
I even attempted suicide about a week and a half ago. I lied to my love interest about it because I was sure he'd reject me if he found out. I injected 50 units of a long-acting insulin I was given; I'm supposed to take only 15 units a day. For my pains, I was taken to the emergency room, strapped to a table, and was not allowed to use the toilet for eight hours. I also cut my arms very shallowly. My landlord now knows I have major mood issues and I live in fear that they might decide to evict me because they don't want that sort of drama around all the time.
I have no hope, no prospects. I'm only getting older and uglier with time. The best years of my life are long gone... and filled with abuse and tainted by selling my self out just to be loved by someone.
I used to tell myself that I'll go on living because my continuing to draw breath pisses off so many conservative and religious people should give me meaning... but even that is not enough anymore.
I hate myself.
There's no way out.
And if I had a gun, I would've done myself in two weeks ago rather than O.D.
I might still do it. Who knows.

I just want someone to know how much pain I'm in all over, mentally, physically, emotionally... in case I do go through with it.
I know life is totally meaningless already.
I just want someone to care, even for half a second.
You don't even need to attend my funeral. I lived alone; I'll die alone; I'll be buried alone. Only my landlord will regret, and that's because I'll leave a stain on the carpet they can't get out.

I'm done. There's nothing left. I should've died a long time ago. I'm sorry it took so long and that I've wasted everyone's time and resources trying to find a reason to continue. That's all, I guess.