Back here. Again.

I posted here two years ago or more. I’m not really sure. I was thinking of ending my life that day and I know the general reasons why, but I don’t know what brought those thoughts so hard that day–just like today. Sitting in my chair, working, then suddenly, like a flash mob of pain and ache and emptiness. Fatelessness.

Everyone adores me for my personality now. I can’t believe how social I can be sometimes, and then nothing, nothing at all, but the desire for nothing, and peace, and a bed made of endless dreams. I know why people do heroin.

I’ve made a plan. I wrote it down. Finally. The first real plan. I even did research. I’m going to pay for everything and when it’s done, it’s done. I don’t care anymore about suffering in the beyond, or if there is nothing after a certain point. Because maybe there is nothing. Can you fathom it? You cease to exist. You’re not a ghost. You’re not an angel. You’re not some underworld suffering tormented creature. You’re nothing. Vapor. Dust. Air. I welcome it, like an old friend.

I’ve pushed the button. Lit the dynamite. Threw the rock in the lake. I’ve already started the end. There’s some sick happiness in knowing.