I cannot contemplate suicide, because it would mean one of two things:
1.) I would choose a seriously lethal method, thus bringing about the end. I am not prepared for the end and what may follow it.
2.) I would be housed with the men in a mental hospital.
Thus, suicide is driven from my mind, and I simply continue day by day, but I do not live. I am already dead. My special interests, what have always defined me, are now an albatross around my neck, a burden I am pushed to follow but can no longer hold. My mind has become a toxic tangle, a web which disrupts the organization of my thoughts to pursue my interests, but I am compelled as I am ever to pursue those interests. My mind has become like this:
The world is a cruel joke and there is no saving hope.
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"You have a responsibility to consider all sides of a problem and a responsibility to make a judgment and a responsibility to care for all involved." --Ian Danskin