My whole life I thought committing suicide was committing suicide, not that I was committing suicide.

What? No seriously, what? I was born ugly, I woke up ugly, I will go to bed ugly. I’m ugly every single day. My whole life is wrapped around the concept of being ugly, the only thing I’ve ever known. I can’t even remember what committing suicide would feel like, if I’m just committing suicide anyway, then what’s the point? My life is a failure even if I end it.