I mean, how many 25-year-olds can say that they don't have to work, that they live rent-free, that they can have it without having to do... anything? It's been nine years since I did anything, about five years (I think) since I went to school, and I've only had a couple of brief food-court jobs that didn't even total six months, and yet I've never had to worry about a place to leave, or food to eat. I have, at least, decent intelligence, and while I'm not in peak physical condition, for the most part I've got my health. My life is way, way better than that of most people. Of course, that's the problem. If I had some reason to feel and act like I do, to just not care, it wouldn't be so bad. Sure, my childhood wasn't easy, but other people have it worse. Okay, so we were never rich, but we weren't living in the gutter, either. I was never popular, but I had my friends. There's no real reason for me to be so incompetent at life. I can't even keep track of the time, much less the date, probably because I sleep so much that a week can pass without my noticing. I have no friends, other than those I know online, and even those are the Internet equivalent of acquaintances. I have no goals or ambitions, and I'm incapable of changing my life for the better. I've had these feelings for a long time, that if I was just going to spend the rest of my life in my room, I might as well skip ahead to the part where I die alone, but I've always been able to ignore it, or push it back. I didn't want to be a statistic, you know? And my family always said that people who killed themselves were cowards. Lately, though, I realized that I've always been far from brave. I just existed, sometimes barely, and all I've really been good for is dragging others down. When our household wound up in tough financial straits, I did nothing. When we lost our house and had to move, I just went along. And now, after I told myself it'd be a brand new start, it's been a year and nothing's changed. This is happened again and again and again: I tell myself that I can do things right, can do something right, but it never happens. I don't know why, I don't understand it, and I don't have any excuses; all I can say is "I don't know," and that's worse than having nothing to say. My family's given up on me a long time ago, and while they're far from perfect, they hung in there much longer than they should have; and even then, they've still supported me all of this time. I'm lucky, and I know it. I just don't deserve to be, and I've finally come to terms with it. Today, my mother told me that at some point in the near future, she'll be kicking me out. I know her friends and family have been pushing her to do it for years, and I'm not lying when I say I'm not angry at her: She's fully within her rights to do so, and I've been an embarrassment to her for a long time. She has her faults, but she's done more for me than a lot of parents have, and all I've managed to do is, well, absolutely nothing. She hopes that once I wind up in a shelter or something, I'll realize how good I have it and get my act together, but I already know that it won't work. Nothing has so far, so why would this be any different? I feel like I'm incapable of even basic self-preservation, like there's some part of my instinct that got wired wrong. My family is sure I won't be able to handle being on my own, and they're right. Besides, what right do I have to be in a shelter with people who have actual problems, when all that's wrong with me is that I'm somehow unfit to survive? All the books and websites tell you to think about suicide before doing it, to avoid acting on impulses. Before, I've always managed to talk myself out of it, or put it off for another day; this is the eighth suicide note I've written in the past two years, though I've always deleted or erased the others. I've thought about it all day, though it came to me, as clear as day, during the above conversation: I won't be able to handle it. It won't change anything. And I've been a leech on society, and a burden on my family, for too long. If I can't manage even the most basic aspects of living in this society, why should I make others pay for it? I know I've always been a selfish person, but for once I'm going to do something right. My parents and my sister might be upset for a while, but they'll move on; I don't have anyone else, so it's okay. I don't know when this is going to happen, but I don't want to do it while I'm still living under this roof: I feel like it'll hurt them more, I don't know. But I've been doing some thinking, and I've got it worked out. I wish I knew my way around here a little better, but I'm pretty sure I can find my way to the local dam, because there aren't a lot of tall buildings here and I don't want to screw up and manage to survive. I'm actually afraid of heights, but it won't be a problem for long. I don't know when this is happening, though, or why I'm posting when my first and last post here was three years ago; I guess I just see this as a trial-run of my note, which is shaping up to be more of a letter. I'm planning on pinning it to my clothes in a ziplock bag, to keep it from getting soaked and shredded in the water, but I'll leave a copy on my laptop, in case the first one doesn't make it through. I can't seem to stop crying, but for the first time in literally years, I feel really, really calm. Like it's some kind of revelation.