My fate is to commit suicide.

A fate that can not be avoided. A fate that I do not wish to fight against. A fate that I look forward to on a daily basis.

Not a single day goes by where I don’t think about just ending it all, and the more I think about it, the more rational to me it becomes.

I’ve fantasized about the moment vividly. Fighting against my survival instinct, finally succeeding with my desired method, and just waiting for the inevitable end. I’ve even gone so far as to imagine people’s reactions, as well as an afterlife that may or may not exist.

To me, everything is pointless. There is no point in life if we’re all meant to die. Our love, our experiences, our passions, they all mean nothing in death. All of that just vanishes.

I am just another insignificant individual who means nothing to the world itself, so I should be free to take my life as I please, in any way that I wish.

I desire death by suicide more than anything. I don’t want to die by natural causes, or by being murdered. I want my demise to be willingly caused by my own hands. I want to be the cause of me disappearing from this universe. I will not be satisfied from dying in any other way.

My dream way to end it all is by jumping from a tall building. A building high enough to make my worries of surviving a thing of the past. Standing on the very edge, looking at the world surrounding me, before finally looking down at the hard ground below that would soon become my only savior. In my mind, I am falling from one life into the next. I would soon stop breathing. I would soon cease to exist.

Suicide is a very beautiful thing in my eyes. I see it as victims of unimaginable suffering finally getting the chance to feel the relief that has been denied from them. And, even for the individuals who believe in no such afterlife and happiness, even nothingness is more desirable than my current life.

Just thinking about that fated moment gives me that rare bit of happiness that continues to deteriorate the further I live on. Fewer and fewer things are giving me any kind of joy, and soon, suicide really will be my only option.

Chronic pain has mercilessly forced every bit of hope that I had been desperately clinging onto to vanish without a trace. I am nothing but an empty shell of my former self. I have absolutely no hope for the future, and I see everything else that does not involve aiding my fate to arrive closer as meaningless.

It’s understandable if most, or even all of you think I’m less than sane after reading this post that probably seems like nothing more than an unorganized ramble. However, I at least wanted to put my thoughts somewhere, for better or worse.