Spoiler in the title. Just so you know where I'm going with this long dissertation. Before I was decidedly suicidal, back when I was just considering and "kicking the tires" so to speak, I always told myself, if circumstances become unbearable, I can always grab my toothbrush and a change of clothes and start walking to another city or another continent where everything will be fresh and I can start over. This romantic notion kept me going through some dark, dark times. I could always start over with a new life. But over the years, the problems ceased to be circumstantial. Gone (or insignificant) were the tangible problems of money, career, embarrassment, obligation, and all the other things that can be fixed by running away. Instead, to my horror, they were replaced with the inescapable, self-imposed tortures of guilt, self-loathing, and worst of all, the chilling realization that I have been, and still am, wrong about everything I've dedicated my life to. There is no running away from these demons. Whether I'm in New York City or Cairo or an island in the South Pacific or the Moon, these things won't go away. And that brings us to the appeal of suicide. When the problem is yourself, the only way to escape yourself is to KILL yourself. I know what you're probably thinking: there are ways of fixing the problem, of mitigating, or even erasing these self-imposed tortures. An attitude readjustment. A new outlook on life. Or the more cynical ones amongst us might say one needs to learn how to cope, manage, endure these things. To that I say simply: no. As long as these problems persist (as long as I am what I am), the pain will increase as it has for years and years. The pain does not go away; at best I can numb it with pills or distractions such as pain of a more tangible sort. But like trying to bail a sinking boat with a hole in the bottom, it is all pointless except to prolong the inevitable in a very agonizing way. Have I missed something? How else can one scape oneself?