My first suicide attempt was on November 6th, 2019.

I had all the pills in my mouth. I was ready. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I'm too scared of death. I'm scared of hell. I'm scared of my family finding me.

I spit the pills out and cried gasping for air. My head felt the same way and my eyes were blurred with tears the same way they did the day I cried getting home from school that day in eighth grade when I was going through that situation. I remember that day in eighth grade as the hardest I've ever cried and it felt surreal to be crying the same way again.

I didn't have anyone to call, so I called the suicide hotline.

When I was done talking to them, I locked the pills in my closet; I locked the closet key in the bathroom; and I tied my hands to the bed so I wouldn't try again.

At the time, that was probably the closest I had ever been to death. I had really scared myself and had been scared of myself.

I knew I had to do something.

The next day felt like I was walking on a cloud. Calm and empty, like being wrapped up in a blanket somewhere cold. It felt a little like how I started to feel in eighth grade, how I thought it was funny that other kids cared about shit like turning in their homework or being late to school when I didn't give one fuck about shit anymore because I realized how nothing really fucking mattered; I had experienced something way bigger than these stupid daily tasks that we worry about every single day, but that we won't give a fuck about on our death beds. That's kind of how I felt on my train rides and walks the next day, except, I felt light. Almost happy, or at least happy to be alive. I appreciated seeing the sunlight; seeing the people around me; I always loved looking at the buildings, but that day they were especially pretty. I did, however, have to motivate myself to stay upbeat.

Juno has one of my favorite soundtracks and the songs always make me happy, so I had the soundtrack on loop every day for at least a week. I had to, otherwise, I would start thinking again.

I begged and bothered my friends to stay on the phone with me, all day, every day for a time period, to keep my mind active and distracted. They didn't know why and I'm pretty sure I bothered the fuck out of them; I could tell, actually. But I needed those phone calls.

I started going to therapy and it did change my life. I've been practicing all my strategies and helping myself in all kinds of ways, but I can't just make it go away.

It's still there.

There's been plenty of nights where I plan it out, or I write a note to leave behind, or I try to get myself to do it.

But I didn't have another serious attempt until November 15th, 2020.

This time I took two pills out of the six or seven I knew I needed to take to die.

I had my note ready.

This time I was scared in a different way.

I was scared at how nonchalant it was.

It's almost like it didn't scare me anymore and I was actually ready.

Was it because I was so close to death during my health scare? Was it because I experienced fainting and being just a little blood and maybe a few minutes away from dying, that I was so comfortable trying this time?

The next day I didn't feel any difference. I didn't have that light feeling or an epiphany like I did last time.

It just felt like it wasn't a big deal. Like nothing happened.

That's what scared me.

After that, I'm not going to lie, I still have a lot of nights where I think about it. I haven't had a serious attempt since then though.

I think I'm okay right now.

I'm going to try to find a new therapist on spring break.

And even though I absolutely loved therapy and my last therapist, I feel scared.

I feel scared that my new therapist won't be like Ryan (my first therapist). I feel scared this therapy might be the kind where they make you choose a goal and try to get you out as soon as possible. I think therapy is something I want and need to have throughout my life; it really does help me more than anything else. I'm scared to have a therapist that's not nice or tries to rush me out or judges me.

Maybe that's why I've been delaying it.

But I do want a new therapist.

And I wish I had someone to talk to in general, a friend I was 100% sure I could always go to and who would say the right things, or a boyfriend or someone who cared about me romantically that gave a fuck about my day and checked up on me or talked to me on the phone every day so I would feel like someone's there and they care and that things are okay.

I can not, and will not now, ever talk to my family about anything personal at all.

So, that leaves God (Who probably sends my prayers to voicemail because I haven't been a good Catholic) and this non-existent/ present friend or boyfriend I desire.

So really, the only person I can talk to is me.

-Cassandra Alexa

Tossing and turning like a maniac, I jump up gasping for air.

It's six in the morning.

Why am I walking around my hotel room in the dark trying to breathe?

I was having a nightmare.

I was having another panic attack in my sleep.

I had a nightmare that everyone knew everything. Everything was on the news. Everyone was talking at the same time.

"How can she like them both at the same time?"

"It's wrong for her to want to be with him while she still thinks about and maybe loves another man and still wants to be with that man."

"It's wrong for her to think about him when she's with the other guy."

"It's wrong for her to compare them."

"It's wrong for her to move on if she's not over him."

"It's fucked up for her to try to move on. What about him? I thought she loved him."

"It's stupid for her to miss him."

"He's not going to date her. And he won't either."

"Isn't this new one with someone?"

"She's a slut. A side chick is all she'll ever be. She can't actually get a man."

"She's a whore."

"She's just sex."

"She's just a body."

"She's not even pretty. She doesn't have a good body."

"I bet she's disgusting. I bet she's just a disease-ridden homewrecker."

"Can you believe she tried to contact him right now?"

"Look what she said."

"She's desperate."

"That's so embarrassing."

"She's pathetic."

"She's a joke."

"Does he know about Mr. ...."

"Does he know about..."

"She's been abused. That's disgusting."

"How could anyone want to be with her? She's been tampered with. She's used. She's unclean and unpure. She's broken."

"Why would someone want to be with her? She's so depressed and anxious? You don't want to be with someone that's so fucked up like that."

"Does he even know about her depression and anxiety or anything that's happened to her or is happening to her?"

"What are they talking about?" he asked me angrily.

...

"What are they talking about? Who's Mr. ... Who's....? Were you really abused? What happened?"

I didn't want to tell him. My body shook and I shook my head and cried; I couldn't breathe. I didn't want him to think of me differently. I didn't want him to leave. Regardless of what I wanted, everything was shown to him on the screen. All the abuse I have ever been through. All the horrible situations. All the depression. All the anxiety. Everything."

"That's disgusting, Cassandra. I can't be with you. That's embarrassing for me. Why would I want you, knowing that you've been through that? You're not mentally stable. You're disgusting. I don't want people to see me with you."

"I thought you were different," I managed to get out.

"What's your body count?"

I hate that question. It's so rooted in sexism and it completely does not take into consideration that survivors of abuse wouldn't like to call their abusers "bodies" like they're people they would choose to have on their "list"; it also ignores the effects of hypersexuality caused by abuse and the impulsivity and destructiveness depression and anxiety disorders (accompanied by other unproductive coping strategies) can cause someone. The sickening situations you find yourself in are not ones you want on your "record". You shouldn't be forced to say "these are the people I wanted to have sex with" when that's just not the case.

And for the men who object to this, I'm going to assume you're a straight cis male, so ask yourself this, if you were raped by a man, would you want to have to consider that a "body" and include him on your "list" when people ask you? No the fuck you wouldn't. Okay, so shut the fuck up.

Also, men are praised for having a high number while women are considered sluts (And what is a "slut" really? Is anyone really a "slut"? Is there really even such a thing? Or is this just a sexist word meant to keep women in "their place"?) and are thought to have STDs or STIs (which, actually, men are the ones who most often transmit diseases and are sometimes unaware they have them, and also a lot of people don't know that there are a lot of STIs and STDs that can be cured by just taking a week's worth of pills) or to not be hygenic (vaginal scent is something often used against some women and people don't realize that every woman has to have their own unique vaginal scent just like every person has their own unique general smell; and also it's pretty fucked up that some men who don't take care of their genital hygine expect women to take care of theirs and critize women about it) or thought to be "loose" (Which literally can't even happen. That's literally just something society has made up to slut-shame women. The only two times the vaginal muscles "loosen up" is 1.) during sex, when the vagina lubricates itself and "loosens" its muscles to allow penetration and then the muscles "tighten" up back to normal after and 2.) during childbirth, and if there was any damage to vaginal muscles during childbirth, kegal excersises could return the muscles back to normal, or if there was a lot of damage done, a procedure could be done. Either way, a vagina doesn't ever just "get loose", like that's literally not how the body works. The vagina, like I just said, will adjust its muscles to sex and childbirth and then right after will return to normal and it's not even a "loosening" the way people imagine "loosening"; it's literally just the muscles not being as tense to allow for these different circumstances not to hurt your body. People like to imagine that if a woman has sex a bunch of times then she won't feel the same or her muscles would be super loose when that's just literally not even how a vagina works. It's just a myth used to slut-shame.)

And don't even get me started on how virginity is a social construct. Virginity is whatever you want it to be, otherwise, it's nothing at all. No one can tell, even from a medical exam (in adults), if someone is a "virgin" or not. The choice to have sex is individual and every person's decisions should be respected.

Let's say you have a woman that's slept with 100 men (one time with each man) and has used protection and birth control every single time and has gotten checked every single time and has never gotten an STD or STI or gotten pregnant and (because it's not physically possible) is not loose and she manages her vaginal hygiene well and she's never cheated on anyone.

And then you have a girl who has slept with one person 200 times. She never wore protection. She never used birth control. She never got checked. She didn't try to manage her vaginal hygiene. Her boyfriend was cheating on her and gave her an STD. And her boyfriend also got her pregnant and she's had his baby. And she cheats on her boyfriend (minus having sex with other guys).

According to your own sexist and idiotic social criteria, who is the "slut" here?

Can you see how fucking stupid your criteria are?

If a woman sleeps with "too few" people, she's a "prude". If a woman sleeps with "too many" people then she's a "slut".

Can you see why (as a woman; a woman who is a feminist; a woman who strives for gender equality amongst other social or world issues; a woman who educated herself on these sexual matters instead of accepting these social criteria; a woman who understands this question's root in sexism and the patriarchy; a woman who is a survivor of rape and other sexual abuse; a woman who's had her reputation ruined before due to people assuming things about her sexual abuse, people spreading false rumors, or because of situations she's been in due to her life circumstances; a woman who has lots of friends and family members who are survivors of their own sexual abuse; a woman who suffers with hypersexuality, impulsivity, and destructiveness due to sexual abuse, two depression disorders, and one anxiety disorder) I would never want to or ever feel obligated to answer this question?

It's not simple.

I don't have to answer that question. I don't want to. I never will. And I don't care who the fuck you are to me. If you were my crush, my boyfriend, my husband, my friend, my family member; I don't care.

Maybe I've slept with one person. Maybe I've slept with 10,000 people. As long as I'm honest with my partner about not sleeping with multiple people at the same time (as to not put any of us at a higher risk for diseases or infections) and not having any STIs or STDs, and I use protection, and I get checked regularly, and I take my birth control, and manage my vaginal hygiene, (and also keep in mind that being "loose" is literally a sexist myth), and I only sleep with people I'm consenting to it with and will feel safe and comfortable and 100% sure with and it's not done because of any effect of hypersexuality and/ or impulsivity and destructiveness, then why the fuck does this "number" concept and specifically my "number" matter to you? You're not obliged to know this conceptual answer. It's none of your business.

Society is going to think what it does. People think I'm a slut without even knowing this "number". People are going to make their assumptions and talk shit and treat you like a "slut" or a "prude" no matter what.

For the record, if I did decide to claim this "list". I'd have two names on it. The man who I considered my first and who was the first man I loved, and another man who I felt sure and safe with (and this one BARELY just happened and it was with a crush/ friend of years).

Am I still a slut?

Whether I say two like I actually believe my "number" would be to me or I say 50 or 100 or 0 or 1,000. It doesn't fucking matter.

Do you understand?

It's just an aggravating and fucked up, sexist question. That's why I won't answer.

But continuing with the dream....

He asked me what my body count was and I wouldn't tell him and he got mad and assumed I was a "slut" just like everyone one else does when I don't answer. He started telling me some very hurtful things about how he viewed me as disgusting.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

"I thought you were different. I thought you were going to save me. I thought you were going to be my shot at a relationship and a good man. I thought I'd get an answer and I prayed for a good one."

I tossed and turned and felt hot and cold and like I couldn't breathe. My chest hurt. I have these mini-heart-attack-like pains when I get stressed. I felt nauseous. I wanted to rip off my skin.

I woke up.

It was six in the morning.

I couldn't go back to sleep.

This happens often. I even stress and have panic attacks when I'm asleep.

-Cassandra Alexa

This has nothing to do with him; let's clarify that before anything.

But I just think I'm done both having sex with anyone and trying to date anyone. He was my last try. My last shot.

I determined that before I even did anything with him.

And it's not about him.

Of course, I do really like him, and he's the only one I like or who I would be interested in dating or doing anything with. And if it ended up working out with him and if he for some reason was the one and he's the man I marry and have kids with and all that; that would be great. But that's highly unlikely and besides him, I don't want anyone else.

Sex is a very hard thing for me.

There have only been two consensual, safe, good, non-traumatic situations I've ever been in. One of them was him. He is my last.

When all you experience consistently throughout your life is abuse and abusive treatment from men, you begin to hate men and to genuinely fear them.

It's so hard for me to be intimate with someone.

I don't like to be touched unless it's by someone I really do like, which applies to only him at this time in my life.

I don't want anyone else to hurt me.

I don't want anyone else to see me or touch me.

I don't want anyone else to have access to my feelings anymore.

I don't want to even like anyone anymore.

And when you try your whole life to date and in the end, no one ever dates you and that's how every single situation in your entire life has ended, it feels like that's just how it is for you, and maybe God just has it set in his plans that you aren't supposed to date anyone or have romance; maybe you're just not made for it.

But then why do you have such a desire for it?

Maybe it's just because you've never felt it in any part of your life and if you had one special person who loved you, you would feel like you found what was missing.

I'm just tired of trying to be in a relationship. And I'm not interested in hooking up.

I'm tired of being emotionally and physically hurt.

I'm tired of my mental health deteriorating because of the trauma men have caused my body and mind.

Even with him, the happiest and safest you ever felt, you still have flashbacks; you still have to fight that uncomfortableness away and get yourself to just relax.

It still scares you. And it's still hard for you to trust him.

I'm just done with romance and physicality.

I'm at my maximum capacity for my experiences with abuse.

I can't handle anyone, in general, touching me anymore.

I can't handle the process of hoping someone's going to date me and they never do.

My heart and my mind are just so fucking broken at this point.

It feels like I'm just laying down and giving up.

It feels like the night I fainted. I was in the shower and I remember just giving up. I didn't keep trying to yell for help; I just let my eyes shut and didn't even mind dying.

That's how drained I am.

I'm just so tired of everything. I'm so tired of feeling hurt and nothing ever changes.

It's not about anyone but myself.

I just choose to give up on romance and physicality.

I'll just live my life without it I guess.

I want this decision to be final.

Maybe if he comes back I'll give him a chance if I think he deserves it.

But regardless, I'm not going to add anyone new to my life for those reasons.

-Cassandra Alexa

I don't know why, but I've been thinking about it a lot.

I don't know why but the men that hurt me stare me down in my dreams.

I've been thinking about all of it a lot.

Maybe it's because my whole life I haven't really let myself deal with it.

Maybe because it always and still is such a constant and huge part of my life.

Maybe it's because I don't want to acknowledge how scared I am of men.

How terrified.

Maybe it's because child me is still crying herself to sleep at night because no one is there to truly comfort her through what she's going through.

Maybe because I'm still in the same place.

Maybe I just need to tell someone everything that has happened.

But what's the point?

I don't want to be a burden or make people uncomfortable.

I thought about maybe telling him if we actually got into a serious relationship and I felt one day that he loved me and wouldn't judge me if I told him all the things I've been through and still go through. But he left.

I don't really feel like I could tell anyone.

I don't want to go through the stuff I've been through before, so I don't want to get them in trouble either.

I just can't deal with it.

I hate to accept it, but it's still making me crumble today.

I put on a brave face about everything in my life around others.

My home life, my hospital time, my abuse, my attempts/ other thoughts from my depression and anxiety, my body negativity, my self-destructiveness, the bullying, my financial struggles, my loneliness, all of it.

I pretend like I'm stronger now and it doesn't affect me and I don't need help.

But I think I do need help. And soon.

I'm looking for a therapist, but who knows how long that will take.

Maybe I do need to go to a hospital. I'm scared though. Plus I can't have any more hospital bills because my parents would be mad and I'd have to figure out how to pay all of it off by myself like I did with these last bills.

I do need to find someone to be there for me in general too.

I do feel hurt.

I feel hurt every day.

And some nights I think about making my decision final and I look through my contacts, all of whom wouldn't answer if I called.

When I need to talk to someone, I don't have any real options.

So I just have to calm myself down and spit the pills out and cry myself to sleep.

And repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

I just feel like what's the point?

I don't talk to my parents or family. I don't have any friends. I couldn't get a boyfriend to save my life.

Who do I even have?

Who the fuck would even care if I died anyway?

I mean I'm probably not gonna make it with my art because what are the realistic chances of that happening?

And other than my art, I have nothing.

Why just go the rest of my life like this?

I don't think anyone would care if I died.

Because they don't care when I'm alive.

I want someone to hug me and tell me they love me more than anything in the world and mean it. I want someone to tell me they're proud of me. I want someone to just be there.

That's all I've ever wanted.

-Cassandra Alexa

I feel like my sexuality has never belonged to me my whole life. I'm not fully open with anyone about all my experiences with abuse. Some closer friends know much more, but at the end of the day, I still haven't been able to let someone know about every single thing.

Most people wouldn't know. It's not something I'm necessarily trying to hide.

I feel like people wouldn't want to hear about it.

I always struggle with my depression and anxiety disorders and with suicidal thoughts or attempts or with trauma from many different things in my life and that depression is constant. I get to very low points.

I can't help everything that's happened in my life. I can't help feeling the way I do. But I always feel like I can't keep anyone around because no one wants to be around someone who's been through and still goes through so much and who feels like that constantly or is openly talking about that feeling or their experiences. I always feel like I have to make a choice between bullshitting being happy to keep people around or being honest and feeling what I feel and hoping I still have a friend in people when I do.

The truth is that I have been through a lot and it's not my fault, but I still have to pay the price with people around me leaving.

I feel like I've been through too much. And, just the other day, I reflected on my life and I discovered that my life had been stolen from me.

Even as a child, my sexuality didn't belong to me. It belonged to men who took my childhood along with my entire life with them. And, still to this day, it's the same case. I've just been through so much and I faced so much the one time I did try to get help, that now I feel like it's not even worth it to tell anyone and no one believes me and I don't want to be victim-blamed. I know I shouldn't care what people think, but I can't help but think if a man I liked knew about everything, he wouldn't like me or he would think I'm a slut or dirty or too used in some way or he would put blame on me or he wouldn't understand or he would think it's unattractive that I've been through so many things. And I live in fear of that every single day.

I once met another survivor of abuse who told me when I meet the right person, if I ever married someone, that I'll be in a place one day where I can be completely open about it and I can be comforted and I can be loved just the same. And I think about that and I don't know if I could have that. I can't imagine that.

For the longest, I didn't want to let myself even accept these truths. About anything in my life. I've been through many forms of abuse and many other things in my life and I never let myself even think about dealing with them until I was 18.

And no one would know it, but I cry every night to God and ask him why he let these people hurt me like that. I wonder why it happened to me. I wonder why my life has to be so bad. I wonder when I can ever escape this abuse. And I ask God why he's let everything destroy me and my life, why he let me get to a place where I feel like there's no return. I ask why I'm such a mess and why I can't pull myself together. I ask "What next?" because I feel done.

I don't want anyone to ever touch me again. I don't want anyone to ever see me naked again.

I have just been through so much abuse that I can't handle it anymore. I have nightmares and other scary experiences with these memories. I can still feel them on my skin. I still think about things. I still panic if a man hugs me or touches me in any way. Even male voices make me uncomfortable. I have unwanted thoughts all the time and it makes me feel afraid even though I know I'm safe. I feel like I've got accustomed to abuse. I feel destroyed by it. I just can't handle another person touching me.

I've only had two consensual, good, safe partners. The only partners I consider, as everything else is not experience I wished to have.

The first person was very emotionally, mentally, and verbally abusive to me. And it took me a long time to get myself out of that place and to let him go. But I have completely let him go and that's one thing I'm proud of.

The other one was my latest partner. He's not in my life anymore I guess. And I feel really hurt because I liked him and I thought he liked me. And even though in the end he broke my heart, I still remain grateful to him. Because he gave me something I never had before. That night, when he was holding me on his chest, I felt safe and happy, and I had never felt that way before from a sexual situation, from a "romantic" situation, or from a man in general. That was the way I've always wanted to feel. That was what should've always been my experience. And I'm glad he gave me that experience and I know he probably has no idea how much that meant to me, but it meant the world to me to be able to experience that.

I really wanted things to work out with him.

Every night, in general, I would pray to God about my experience with romance, which isn't much at all considering I've never had an actual boyfriend, but I'd still pray and ask that I could have "the one" and that would be my only and last experience with men. Because I can't take it anymore.

So, I thought to myself, if it works out with him and he for some reason ended up being that one, then perfect, and if not, then I can't continue on with pursuing romance because romance includes sexuality and I cannot mentally or physically handle another person touching me. I can't.

And it didn't work out with him, I guess. I mean if he wanted to talk to me, he could, and I'm sure he knows I'd let him back in, and he already knows I liked him. If he wanted to talk to or be with me, he would. So, I guess this means he's not coming back. And he's the only one I would want to be with.

Besides him, I'm just done with all of this.

Emotionally, I can't handle letting another person get close to me. I've tried before (most notably with these two men I was just talking about) and for what? To just get hurt?

I don't believe love exists. Because to be in love you need two people to feel the same way about each other and to treat each other good. And I've never seen that. I care about people. I think I am capable of loving another person and treating them good and keeping my promises and my love and good treatment and faithfulness forever, but I don't think they could also love me and treat me right and be faithful to me, especially not for the rest of their lives.

I don't trust anyone anymore and I don't believe I can find love in anyone new.

And I don't want to either. I am done emotionally as well.

After all the sexual abuse and heartbreaks (and emotional abuse from the first man) and other, extremely significant abuse that I can't talk about right now, I just give up on romance and sexuality. I don't want anyone to get close to me. I don't want anyone to touch me.

Even the thought of someone new or unwanted touching me makes me panic.

So, what now?

I guess I can't be a mother.

I think it would be difficult and I would be afraid to be a mother, but some part of me has always wanted to have a baby one day. I could adopt, but I know it's a very difficult and expensive process.

I don't know what I'll do.

I've always wanted to experience love and I guess I just wasn't designed to ever have it. It sucks because I feel like that's all I've ever wanted. Whether it comes to family or friends or someone romantic. I just wanted someone to love me.

But love is unattainable for me, I guess. And I can't rely on him coming back and I don't see myself ever becoming comfortable with anyone else touching me or getting close to me. Everyone tells me how I'm fine and how there's other fish in the sea and how I just have to go out and find someone new. But they don't understand how fucking impossible that is for me. They haven't been through the extremities of my abuse and life situations. They don't understand how weak and beaten up and terrified and sickened I feel. They don't understand that this last man was my final shot. That was it.

I cannot handle anything else. I don't see this changing any time soon.

My sexuality has never belonged to me. I wear the outfits I want and do my makeup how I want it honestly just because that's how I enjoy dressing and doing my makeup, and for literally no other fucking reason. I don't dress up for men. I don't dress up for an individual. I don't do it because I want attention. And most importantly, unlike what people love to say about me, I don't dress the way I do because I'm a "slut".

And it fucking pisses me off that all I want to do, all I want to fucking do, is just wear some fucking clothes and some fucking makeup I enjoy. That's it. And I can't even have that because people think they know my intentions with my clothes, they think they know best and they think they know I'm a whore. And they're fucking ignorant because they have no idea what the fuck I've been though. My clothes and my makeup are the last things in my entire life about my body or sexuality or image that belongs to me, that I can express. And even that, people try to take it and twist it. Fuck you.

How the fuck can you call me a "slut" because I want to wear this outfit when I literally plan on never sleeping with anyone again, when I've literally only had two consensual partners. You have no fucking idea the shit I've gone through, and I put on these clothes just for you to call me a fucking slut. After all the bullying about my image and body, and I finally get to a point where I want to dress how I want to dress just so you can tell me I'm a slut or that my body makes my outfits look slutty.

Fuck you.

Fuck all of the men that hurt me sexually. Fuck all the people that bullied me about my body and image. Fuck the emotional abuse I went through, fuck the shit I have to go through to this day that I can't talk about, fuck all that.

I've never belonged to myself.

I want to wear the outfits I want to wear. I want to wear the makeup I want. I want to make the film and music and writings I want. I want to paint. I want to expand my film and music taste and organize my collections of music and film. I want to find new directors, screenwriters, actors, musicians, artists, fashion designers, makeup artists, everything. I want to make a film. I want to push myself through getting my album out. I want to do designing with my art, fashion, makeup, future home, and many other aspects of my life. I want to get myself back into therapy. I want to heal. I want to be happy. I want to love myself and take care of myself. I want to expand my mind and experiences. I want to be at peace. I want to dive into philosophy. I want to explore comedy. I want to build my social life. I want to work on building the relationships I have with current friends and making new ones and building relationships with family members. I want to build my social skills up. I want to grow my relationship with God. I want to develop myself and become the best version of myself. I want to prepare myself for the future I want. I want to get my own place and car. I want to decorate everything I have and myself and my environment or home or belongings with the aesthetics I desire for my life. I want to expand my recipe book. I want to expand all my interests and abilities and collections in all the art forms I love. I want to listen to books and make collections of stories. I want to have games or video games or physical activities I can do. I want to conquer my academics. I want to thrive in my career. I want to learn languages. I want to learn new life skills. I want to polish my responsibilities. I want to work on my beauty plan and become the most physically beautiful version of myself. I want to expand my hobbies and activities. I want to give myself opportunities to be more festive or enjoy more events. I want to grow my flowers and other plants. I want all my interests to expand and to be the most full, tasteful person I can be and have that organized throughout my life. I want to be the person I've always wanted to be and the person they wish they could have or be.

I want to become so full of my person that I feel like I am myself, that I feel like I belong to myself.

That's the only thing I think there is to do.

-Cassandra Alexa