Note 1

The thought of suicide is like the reassurring hand of an adult holding my hand in the
darkness. The safety and security in the face that even when all is lost and gone I shall always have one thing to count on. One action that is a constant possibility in the darkest moments of my life. I try so hard not to think of it but the thought is too pleasurable, too enticing to not spend hours fantasizing away. I fear I'm too far gone or has such defeatist thinking made me defeated. The lack of feet in my arguments for life make me unable to escape the sweet embrace of familiar deathly thoughts. Truly defeeted.


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