Had a breakfast table chat with mom about my failed transition, lost girlhood, pointlessness of it all & how they should view my suicide as me taking responsibility for my actions instead of some inherently irrational act of desperation brought on by their parental failings.
While she is an educated, intelligent woman whom I greatly respect, she is still—to put it bluntly—a normie, for whom suicide will absolutely be a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
When she finally had to get to work, she gave me a hug, said that she loved me and made sure that our agreement that I wouldn't kill myself was still in effect. So while our chat wasn't particularly
intellectually stimulating and my stupid brain remains as jammed as ever, it did remind me of the joys of meaningful conversation and actually using one's head both things my reclusiveness as well as mental-illness-and-ADHD-addled-brain have been keeping me away from for my whole life.
Just like with my transition, doing these things mostly just fills me with regret about not doing them sooner.
This truly is a hell of my own creation.