A letter from May 31st, 2015

Dear FutureMe, I am so stressed out. I don't know what I want to do with my life. Medical school is expensive and time consuming.(UNDERSTATEMENT) Actuary? Architect? Engineer? Or something like that? Heeelp me. Yes, I know I have years to decide. But I want to know by twelfth grade, or at least have a general idea. And then there's the whole school thing. Both in terms of college and the current BS ahem. What is the point? Honestly, what is the effing point? Sometimes I feel like suicide might just be the best option, but realistically I know I could never do that. And I absolutely refuse to before I fully leave this hellhole, if you know what I'm referring to. Of course you do. You're me. Ugh. Life is so depressing. Why? Why did I have to have these circumstances? It's like that passage from The Brothers Karamazov that Devorah pointed out to me. This is how I know God cannot exist. Or at least, God as these religious wackos have painted It. Sigh. Goodbye. I sincerely hope you're having a better time of it than me. Good luck.