Today I looked back at the times when I was moments away from killing myself and I remember there was something telling me not to, that pesky survival instinct or “will to live” all humans have. I was thinking about my attempt planned for this summer and I asked myself why I set such an arbitrary time frame. That’s when I realized it wasn’t arbitrary, it was so I could use a shotgun that I don’t have access to until then. Which brought into question why I didn’t plan my attempt around the hundreds of other ways I could kill myself before that. Survival instinct has nothing to do with why I couldn’t kill myself in the past and why I’m waiting until summer to kill myself, the real reason is that I’m afraid to live. I could drive 15 minutes to a city that I live close to that has a bridge which is presumably high enough to jump off of and die, but it’s the “presumably” part that keeps me from hopping in my car and going there. I can’t accurately predict whether or not that fall will kill me and I don’t want to take the chance that I’ll surface from the water and still be alive. I’m still on the fence about the shotgun too but statistically speaking it has one of the highest mortality rates, leaving room for error, don’t quote me on this but it has something like a 95% chance of producing my desired results when aimed through the mouth and towards the rear of the brain. Like I said it’s the 5% percent chance I’ll still be alive that scares me, not the 95% chance that I’ll die. So I actually find it funny how I’ve lost the will to live yet I can’t bring myself to try anything that won’t kill me.