Existential Crisis Thoughts [vent]

Welcome to the shitshow (depression edition)

I want to be famous. I want to travel the world and have adoration from fans who have blogs about me and who's closets are filled with my merch. I want to preform on stage to a roaring crowd. I want people to tell me how my music is important and that I matter. I want to be famous. I write shitty music with sappy stupid lyrics and with melodies ripped off from 60s rock musicians. I want to preform to a loving audience, but how can I when I'm too anxious to sing in from of my own parents? I am too anxious to even allow myself to record my crappy tunes. I can't make music. I'm shit at it, my sound is so unoriginal. I compose on my ukulele which I only have because of tyler joseph inspired me to. Back to my lyrics, despite that their sound shitty I am terrified of them. They're mostly about a time in my life where I had a gf. I'm a girl. My parents are homophobic. I want death. I'll never be anything big. I'll never have my dreams come to reality. I'm a failure who's never even tried. I am unoriginal to my core. Nothing left about me is real anymore, I'm just a copy paste collage of people who inspired me. But I can't be them. I can't be me.
I can draw. Copied images. I'm not creative but I try so fucking hard to be. I can't preform I can't be famous. Hit me over the head with a shovel. I wish I wasn't alive. I'm an unoriginal depressed ugly ass bisexual fuckup wannabe who can't do shit. Fuck I just want my existence to matter.  I could create album art for bands that travel around the world. Stfu. I really just need to die already. Who the fuck actually wants me around? My mom kicked me out even though I'm not yet 18 for a while now. My dad straight up told me he loves his whore gf more than he loves me. My ex is a phat cunt. I hate my close friends and the friends I don't hate hardly know me though. I guess my dog would wonder where I was. That doesn't matter though. I'm gross.
I'm ready to go now. I have no future. I have straight D"s as grades. I want to fucking die y'all. Prozac doesn't work shit. I'm literally the equivalent of gum the retarded kid stuck under the desk. Gross. And inconvenience. Nasty. Unfortunate to run into.
Me. Ugh god I hate myself.