I think of suicide everyday and several times each day. I find reasons not to do it and have done so since I was a teenager after a failed suicide attempt. The reasons to stay seem to be harder to find each day and the fear of the pain I would cause those I leave behind as a reason not to do it lessens with each passing day. I've bargained, cajoled, harrassed, threatened myself for years to just not do it as I always barely found a suitable reason not to, but I have come to realize at the end of each day lately I do not matter and my suicide would not be felt by me emotionally, so why care? I find no joy in life and as I once heard it put though I cannot credit the author, "I pine for the sweet release of death". I fear I am a coward or I would have already done it. The strength I need that I've lacked in the past seems to grow each day to complete the failed task I started forty years ago. I remember another line from a song (again I cannot give credit to it's author) that I used to describe my life's journey, "I believe in God and truth and right, yet I wander in the night without direction". I now wonder why when I'm in the dark places and secret corners of my mind, I do not just stay there and utilize that mood and do not come back to the light. My soul seems to ache and I care less about going to hell as perhaps I belong there as I already seem to be in hell in my mind. I apologize if none of this makes sense, but on the other hand, what does it matter either way?