i have become very complacent and I'm coming into a very peaceful acceptance about my impending suicide. I have the note all written. I have the method. I'm just waiting until people around me are no longer suspicious, when people have forgotten about me and have fallen into their routines. And it won't be where people can find me or can track me. And I've read all the books, heard all the lines about why one should not commit suicide and all the lines people say about family, my future, it being permanent solution to a temporary problem, etc. etc. etc.. i'm desensitized to it. There is not much to explain, and those who are close enough to be affected by my suicide at all already know my life was filled with hurt and a deep awareness of not belonging. From an early age I never fit. Through all my years, my “hurt” substantially outweighed the supposed “good” of me staying. Despite my best efforts to change that balance between “hurt” and “good”, I could never turn it around, never came close to even equalizing it. I couldn’t really pinpoint for you a precise moment when I realized I didn’t belong in this world because it wasn’t one moment, but a collection of things done to me and things I did or didn’t do. I felt this collection of things spoke volumes to the fact that my presence in the world was never appropriate and, too, that I was a poison in the world, a filthy cancer eating away at the health of whoever came into contact with me. I opted to not list any examples, because I was too tired to write them. But that was a large reason in itself: I was just too tired to stay alive; that and I was too lost in the world to see the point of trying to find my way any longer. In the past three or so years, I was actually gaining some footing, coming up from the deepest hole of despair you can imagine, trusting a professional psychotherapist to hold onto a rope she had lowered down – metaphorically speaking. It has always been hard for me to trust anyone with all the pain in my life and all the times I've have been burned by opening myself up. So I opened myself up to her, made myself more vulnerable than in many years. But in the end, she let that rope go and abandoned me without any warning even though she knew abandonment was the most difficult thing for me, somehow convincing herself it was the best decision she could make of my behalf. And she did so without tying that rope onto anything, without making sure I was secure before she fled the scene. And so I tumbled back into the hole and this last drop killed me. In the end, it was not really surprising she abandoned me. Her behavior followed a pattern I had grown accustomed to. Her behavior epitomized why the world was always an unsafe and lonely place for me. Once, I described for her a vision of myself as a two-year-old, sitting in the center of an empty kiddy pool, dressed only in my bathing trunks, watching storm clouds move over and feeling the cold move in. I shivered violently and my small teeth clattered; in the end, I had been forgotten and no one came to get me. When my therapist abandoned me, she was just behaving like everyone I encountered. But another part of my defectiveness was my neediness. I needed too much. That’s just another reason why my presence in the world was never appropriate. I was a parasite with insatiable neediness, leeching off others, slowly destroying them. I've finally come to the peace that it is time to go.