"Not gonna lie, I would totally kill myself, dude," America announced.

"What? Why?" England frowned at this, turned to America with something vaguely resembling concern. "That won't solve anything."

"I mean, obviously I'm not actually going to," America said. He stretched, stood up. The World Meeting hadn't started yet, and it was only England and America in the room, just waiting for everyone else. "... but I totally would, if I knew for fact that I would be reincarnated. I'd take a normal, boring old human life, even. You know, where you grow old and die fast."

"Right, but why? Your life isn't that horrible, and you're already depraved. What could really be bothering you so much?"

America sat again, twiddled his thumbs, fidgeted. "I just really hate having a body, that's all," he admitted. "It'd be really lit to be happy with it, or to not have it at all."

"Why don't you just work out, or diet, or anything? You don't have to lose all hope on actually liking yourself. Suicide isn't the answer here."

As always, England took an aggressive stance on their discussion. America took a moment to contemplate this and then said, "Dude. Well, here's the thing. I'm hot as fuck already, and I know that. There's nothing wrong with me— I'm the strongest nation in the world, of course I'm perfect— but I feel like there's something wrong with me. You know, like if I could press a button that made it so I existed as though I'd never really began to zone in on my insecurities, then I would totally do it; I don't really care what it would cost me. But there isn't a button that can fix my life, and I'm never going to get over my exaggerated faults. I'm just going to have to live like this until I'm dead. So I would totally kill myself if I knew I'd get reincarnated, 'cause it's totally bullshit that I'm at the best point in my life right now and I still hate myself."

"Yeah, I mean, that does suck." England fell silent, unsure of what to say, and then added, "It's a good thing, then, that you were raised under Abraham's God."

"Haha, yeah. No reincarnation for me." Suddenly America found himself less than enthused over the lack of reincarnation within his religion, even if it kept him alive.

"Seriously though, that's not normal," England commented.

"No? Damn."

England made no further attempt to address what America had said. America pulled out his phone and England began to do paperwork, and neither of them took any of it seriously.

...

America wasn't having the best time of his life. It was the fifth or sixth time he'd actually stopped what he was doing to look at himself in the mirror that day, and he supposed he needed to knock it off. Still...

There were, of course, a number of things that America liked about himself— how could he not? he was fucking rad— but there was only one thing he didn't particularly like about himself, and it just so happened to be his torso, which was obviously a very significant part of his body.

So of course that was what America focused on. There was nothing wrong with his torso, obviously, but he just would have liked a different one. He would have really, really liked a different one.

It was ridiculous to be upset over something like that, and of course America knew that. There was nothing wrong with his torso and it was ridiculous to spend so long hyper-focusing on it that he eventually did find error with it; even so, it was becoming a habit, a ritual of sorts.

The only thing that helped anymore was tucking in his shirts in the same way a Midwesterner or 9-5 office employee might, so that was what America went to do. But when he came back in the hopes of alleviating the mental discomfort he was in, he found that it had not worked— so it was only one of his button-up shirts that worked, and none of the others helped. How great it was that America had exactly one shirt that he was comfortable in anymore.

America was more or less surprised when he felt the tears building up; he usually didn't get so upset over this, but today he just felt horrible, somehow even worse than usual.

America sat on the bathroom floor, very much devastated, and wiped his eyes. There was nothing wrong with him... but all it took was just one intrusive thought on one otherwise uneventful morning to send his life downhill like this. America didn't even remember when this had all began, but he wished, desperately, that he could take it back— that there was some button he could push, some trade he could make to make all of this go away, to just be happy again.

But it wasn't too late, was it? America wasn't hopeless or anything. America still had more good days than bad, after all, and he spent most of his time happy— even if recently he found himself less and less happy each day, even if recently such thoughts had been in the back of his head even when he was actually enjoying his life. No, America wasn't hopeless. Things could still improve; he was not in such a dark place yet.

America could begin to improve things by working out more, going on a diet, but this was more of a pipe dream than anything. He knew, even now, that it wouldn't be enough. Nothing he could do would be enough because he was already fine, he just wasn't satisfied.

So America was fucked, then. If he could press the button then he totally would, but there was no button and the good days were coming to a close.

A/N: I've been really sad these days, so I wrote this. I only have hella beef with my bone structure, one of the few things one can't change. Working out can't really change your perception when the problem is your bones, and concealing via clothing doesn't work— even if it did, I would still be a liar.

Don't get me wrong, I am very conventionally attractive— and vain. And I already feel pretty good being a totally awesome dude doing totally awesome stuff. But I'd feel really good if I just had a 'better' bone structure, because these days it's always in the back of my head, even when I'm being a dumb kid in my backyard or listening to Weezer and dreaming about California. I would give a lot to change it, but unfortunately nobody can spin my desires into truth, money be damned.

Anyway, sorry for a bit of a downer; I guess it's not too out of the usual, but everybody's got their shit already. A review would be 10/10, have a great day and stay safe.