Two weeks after, I want to end my life.

On April 18th, after three months with the plan, I nearly killed myself. I had my charcoal ready, but changed my mind before getting in the car with the grills. I told my parents of my plans the next day ended up spending a week in the hospital. No medication was prescribed and I left feeling ready to go on with life. I’ve been out about a week now, but earlier this evening my mind went back where it was before. I see no reason to continue. My life is good relative to that of the average person, but that doesn’t matter if life doesn’t have any purpose. Life’s not that exciting. I don’t want to sit around an wait for the next enjoyable thing to come around, I’d rather just quit the whole process. I’d go do it right now, but now I’ve seen the tears in my mother’s eyes after I told her of my initial plan. I realize what I do affects those that care, but it’s my life. Why can’t I just fucking not care again? What good is living if your only reason to do so is that others want you to?