I've made two half-hearted suicide attempts in my life. Neither had any real probability of working, the way I did them, and I knew it at the time. I didn't think I'd actually die by doing what I was doing. But, I was serious about the idea, and I was serious about doing it "for real" some time in the future. Thankfully, all that has been absent for the last three or four years. But, I've been really triggered recently, and I don't know why. I live alone now. I feel like I can do anything in this apartment, and it's unlikely anyone will even notice for days. I could so easily just die in here, and I might not have anyone concerned about me for two or three days, at the least. Maybe even up to a week, if I were lucky. For some stupid reason, there has been a suicide in every single story I've had to read in my literature class so far. A part of me is deriving some sick inspiration from this. I read the Aeneid and realized I was envious of Dido, deadly envious. The part of me that taunts and deconstructs believed her death to be beautiful and haunting, just the sort of scene that would linger in my mind for years and eventually drive me over the edge. There is a part of me that even finds it romantic. And you can argue about that all you want. Rage and get mad at me for even using the word "romantic" in reference to suicide. God knows I have! I fight with it all the time. I shouldn't feel that way. I don't want to feel that way. It's stupid. Suicide is horrible! etc etc. Nothing seems to effect this part of me. How do I help myself? I feel like it's a character flaw that pushes me in this direction.