I suppose I have a good life, relatively speaking. No history of abuse or neglect, my parents are together, etc. But all my life I’ve been consumed by thoughts of death and dying–simultaneously fearing it and wishing for it.
I was always a shy and awkward kid. I think at first I was disappointed by my inhibition, but three years ago, in eighth grade, when I “grew a personality”, as I say, my obsession with suicide really blossomed. I began to embrace my social ineptitude and became determined to make sure that people disliked–or better yet, hated–me, found me disgusting or rude or cruel, whatever. Because […]