You familicided, closet transgender, native american white supremacist, mentally
self-enslaved, confused son of a bitch. Enjoy your freedoms.

Because supposed strife of my daily battles pales to compare with your own, name forsaken hungry ghost, shredded soul, I cannot overstate that I am millions of times better off than you.

As for your sympathy — please, whereas you might as well live in the depths of literal hell I basically walk in golden shoes in the physical plane. A doctor’s son. Causal bound. Cradled in opportunity. Etcetera.

So don’t feel bad for me, God faker, dunce cap donning hand raiser. Don’t feel bad at all. Armless boxer. That is why this game you cannot win. Now go back home and do not return until you reincarnate.