Did I plan on being dead by now? Yes.
Am I ready? Yes.
Then I got the phone call. A shot at a job in my field. I have to take it.
It was easier when I could add up all the pain. The lifelong depression, the disconnection from relationships, the alien-like quality of being in my own body and mind, and to top it off: my career at a standstill.
It made it perfect timing to leave.
This job won’t make me happy. I already know the routine. Nothing will ever make me want to live.
But if I get this, maybe I can muddle through a little while longer for my family’s sake. They mean the world to me and I would hate to ruin them.
Now that I may not be forced into a corner, I can really think about this.
Might as well give it a go. Death will always be waiting.