Fin

I think of death.  Often. I wonder what would happen after I close my eyes ... would I remember? Would I see? ....me.
I envision just seeing everything after as if it were a movie playing out before me.
I don't sleep anymore.
I don't find happiness in anything anymore.
I have decided that I'd rather be burned than buried.
I want a stranger to read my eulogy that I would have already written.

I think about how I could die painlessly but quickly. Pills. Knife. Drinking poison.

I resorted to emailing the samaritans a few days ago.
I stopped writing back because it didn't help.
I feel like I have a lot to say and no one to say it to because no one can help me.

I feel empty.
I feel lost.
I'm lonely.