As life flashes by

Will I look back upon my life when I die and wonder why I wasted my youth on loneliness and mending my broken heart? Or will I look back and think, shit I really did manage to live a whole life in barely 28 years? I'm divided by those two polar extremes, one part of me always worried that I'm not living my life to the fullest and then there's this other part that tells me that I truly have lived my life to the fullest.

At the best of my ability, something deep inside me tells me that haven't I cried, laughed, screamed, dreamed and done everything I possibly could have in spite of everything? I'm broken, I was born broken, but it's never stopped me. Taking a butt load of medication every day for years didn't stop me from drinking and experimenting with illegal drugs.

Being well aware of the dangers of STD's, rape and ending up pregnant didn't stop me from sleeping with everyone who ever wanted me. Living with this damaged mind of mine didn't stop me from trying to study and even work for short moments. Not being able of taking care of myself didn't stop me from trying to live on my own for 3 years.

Being a very impulsive person didn't stop me from getting a thought through tattoo, piercings that left scars, and other scars. Being a mental fuck up and a transsexual didn't stop me from dating and going after people way out of my league. I've been dumped and I've dumped others. Been accused of cheating.

Had threesomes, played with BDSM, transitioned from female to male, believed I've had every possible sexual orientation before settling for panromantic grey area asexual, kissed a celebrity, been to concerts, taken loads of medication all with interesting results and side effects, been bullied, been sexually assaulted and raped on Valentine's Day.

I've become a heavy smoker, been alcoholic, lived in the country and in a city, found a soul mate in my best friend since we were 13 years old, fallen hard and hopelessly for people who never even once considered me and thus I have been in love although unrequited, been through an abusive relationship, had pets, rode horses, had virtually every hair colour, been overweight as well as medium weight and soon also underweight.

I've gotten good grades in art and language, learned how to draw and sew my own clothes, learned how to make fake dreads and played with make up, been living both as male and female, tried to learn how to play guitar, I revolted against my bullies in elementary school, had the best teachers, had the most supportive mother... the list can go on forever.

But you could definitely say that I have lived. Despite the constant anxiety, the isolation and the suicidal tendencies which by the way also are life experiences. But have I lived enough? My life could end at any moment now if K really does die cause so would I if he does. And I mean that literally. I will end my life if he dies, that's what I mean when I say that I can't live without him.

I imagine sitting on a very high roof top one day with a final suicide letter in my hand, wearing the best clothes I have and thinking about what happened to my life. Did I really live it, or was I just waiting for that miracle all along and everything else was just empty activities? Did anything ever mean anything at all? Did I come here by mistake, will death finally take me back home to where I belong? Was it all for nothing, or was it everything?