I haven’t killed myself yet… and I think she’s why…

So here I am again. Alive and healthy, better than actually, my physic is great. Maybe that’s irony? Does that make me a coward? A fake? How long have I wanted to die after all?
I wanna say it’s harder when you see the people it would hurt, and you know they’ve gone though a lot of the same pain you have, and you wouldn’t hesitate to die to spare them just a little more. Maybe that’s what it means to have a reason to live? But since when do I care about other people? I’m the asshole. That’s how it works. I don’t build relationships I build demolition sites. Another person has never meant more to me than my own self loathing. I can’t aspire to love someone else one half as much as I hate myself.
But I’m still alive… And I know she’s the reason.
I know I’m not a coward; I’m always the first one to charge danger, to press for adventure, to ignore pain, to demand conflict. No possible cause of death scares me, they excite me. But… Somehow I’m still scared to die… Why?
I know I’ve always been a fake. I lie about everything; to myself, to my family, to my friends. I try to be literally everything that isn’t me; until I don’t know who I was to begin with anymore, because if I don’t ever find out who I am, I can’t ever fall short of expectations. This way I can always pretend to have some sort of “hidden potential” to one day shock and surprise everyone. I don’t though, I give up at everything. I crave mistakes more than success or approval. Maybe suicidal was another role I just played for twelve years or so, and now I get to pick up the pieces and move on as a more realized person somehow? Except it still hurts, all the time, and I still fantasize about giving up on it all.
Even though I know it would hurt her if I killed myself I don’t actually believe anyone cares; not really anyway. It’s more about the benefits we get out of each other isn’t it? I make sure to sustain her, I know my role, and she pretends I matter so that she doesn’t lose that sustenance. That’s just how the world spins.
But that’s not how it feels for me anymore… things are starting to become less important by comparison… we could lose everything tomorrow and it wouldn’t matter one bit to me if I could cheer her up about it. Homeless, penniless, jobless, dreamless, it all seems strangely… doable… all of the sudden.
Look… I don’t believe in love for the same reason I don’t believe in heaven. I mean have you ever really seen it? Does this seem like the kind of world concerned with our happiness? It wouldn’t make any sense to me for all this pain and death to somehow end in a fairy tale, just like it wouldn’t make any sense for an eternal party to be scheduled right over a massive torture chamber filled with the guests loved ones. Now a random, heartless world of coincidences, that all adds up. Every last bit, to a T.
I just don’t know… It’s not like my depression is gone, I’m just suddenly unwilling to die…
Is it what I think it is?