Why am I still here at all? I’m a fucking failure at everything to do with life – including ending it. I could have jumped that not-so-fair day in May. I could be at peace, or whatever it is that happens after death, sleeping in a pine box 6 feet underground. I could have left all this shit behind me. . . so why am I still here?
To die, or not to die. To live, or not to live – those are the questions. I thought for a while I had escaped the dim cloud of gloom that hovers over me, but it has again come home to roost.