Death has become a certain fascination of mine, and not just because of Rio Vidal. (Just had to throw in a joke) the stupid ways you can die are quite absurd and remind us that we do not last at all or well. We can die being bitten from a small bug 100 times less than our size. We can not urinate and die. We can eat the wrong food, and die. We can be hurt by our family, the ones sworn to protect us. We can kill each other and ourselves.

     Fragility of our life to most means, that they should live to the fullest. But to me? It means that nothing matters. All we do in life will most likely be forgotten. Once we cease to exist, it's like we never existed at all. Strange how figures of great importance are swept under the rug, the celebrities we know now, will be forgotten by the younger generations. Our life- simpler is meaningless. No purpose. Why work at all, when in the end, the results are the same? Death.

   I always wondered what would happen when we die. And of course, raised in a household with homophobic Christian parents, the obvious answer was "Heaven". But, if Christianity is the way to go, then hell is also an option. You don't just say you're Christian and automatically go to heaven according to my ethics class. You have to TRULY believe. But what if that belief isn't enough, or what if you think you belief it, but you don't actually? With all my self-doubt and anxiety of everything, and questioning everything I know 24/7, doubts of the religion I was raised in is probably obvious.

     Especially when you're a non-straight non-cis child living in a homophobic transphobia, and all together lgbtq+phobic household. Especially when your parents use religion to justify yelling at you, use it to justify giving you books on how being gay is wrong, use it to justify yelling at you and closing down your relations with lgbtq+ friends. Use it to justify punishing you for reading something with lgbtq, use it to justify grounding you for spotting you entertains yourself with lgbtq shows and books. Of course I have doubts, who wouldn't?

     They yell, they scream, they get angry, they force me to have physical contact even though touch makes me want to flinch away and cry, they justify my flinching away from them with "teenagers" and they guilt trip me, they make transphobic jokes and expect me to laugh. And they steal my will to live. What is the point in living, if I can't be myself? I was to have a girlfriend/QPR, but I know that won't happen until much later, if at all. I want to be able to watch cute lesbian romance movies, without my mom and dad gagging or fast forwarding every time something lovey happens. I want to be able to wear a pride flag with pride, instead of coloring one in my room at night, then hiding it. I try to make them all see reason, and I succeeded with my siblings, but my parents are just too far gone. They will not be saved. And to be honest, it's conflicting. Because they are like that, and they yell at me, and they make me do things I don't want to do, but then they give me a cookie, and buy me a book, and they're suddenly nice. Is it a coincidence that they're only nice in public though? When other are around, they don't yell. When others are around, they don't criticize me. When others are around, they act as if they care. But do they really? Probley not. And that makes me want to die.