At this point, the glass isn’t half empty or half full, the glass is shattered and the pieces are embedded deep in my flesh. I have final “insurance” if you will, I’m just waiting for the right time to use it. I’ve practiced over and over. It’s not a matter of if I choose to make my exit, but when. And oddly enough, having a surefire “insurance” policy helps me through the bad moments, the mere knowledge that I can reliably end it when I choose to do so, when the time comes, is almost enough to bring me peace. I’m playing a sick game of seeing just how bad my life can get before I decide to finally pull the plug. How much torture can I endure? How far can everything crash and burn before I abandon ship? What sick and twisted surprise will Life throw at me next? What will be the last straw before Death takes me into her arms? I’ve come very close from natural causes several times the past year and a half, but through sheer bad luck have survived. I wish I hadn’t been taken to the hospital in my dying moments. Ever since the last incident especially, coming so close to death I could practically taste it, it all feels fake. I already peacefully accepted my demise, and for it to be turned around and taken away from me.. Felt wrong. By all means I SHOULD be dead. The past year has felt so fake. Like time I shouldn’t have. I wonder if I could have refused treatment. Why did people have to meddle with my last chance to die naturally? I feel like that was ripped away from me. The chance to die with some dignity and not by my own hand. Had I been untreated for one more day, I wouldn’t be rambling on like this, I wouldn’t be lamenting the missed opportunity to spare my loved ones the pain of my suicide. It would have been so much easier on them. I wish I could tell them how I feel, but I can’t. They wouldn’t understand and would hurt too much. I can’t tell anyone. So here I write the pathetic ramblings of a madman.