Details aside, when I dissociatively and mechanically prepared my own death, I was surprised at myself that I was much calmer and still able to think, even though I knew it had to end this way. I had never thought this before, because I was the type of person who was an idealist, someone with aspirations for the things and people in my life that were never going to happen, and it was against my usual beliefs that I tried to hold on to every day, but I had the thought that I had deserved better than what I was about to do. I thought I had earned more, tried hard enough, "recovered" over and over and never finding solace anywhere, but thinking in the back of my mind, even though I kept thinking I just wanted it to end, that I really was hoping underneath that somehow everything *had* to get better sometime. I felt like I was special somehow, like some supernatural being had put me through all these trials of pain and treatments with some kind of reason behind it, some sort of reward at the end, a future I could live in. Before, while I thought to myself that I deserved to die, I was now thinking the opposite, which rang truer at that particular time. I just had always thought I earned more than this, and especially with some other people I cared for and wanted to continue caring for, but just couldn't. I was always going to be an infection on them as long as I let myself live. I especially thought of my childhood friend, who I loved so dearly and with such suffering passion and adoration, but was ripped right from my arms when she became permanently traumatized after multiple rapes and a system of abuse she endured daily until it ended in a horrible way. I really loved her so much, it hurt. I thought we were better, and that we would have a future together if I just outsmarted everyone else and cheated fate. I felt like I had earned it by then after so many years of mental agony that tested how much I could take. Over and over again, I surprised myself at my own resilience, always thinking during each instance that this episode was going to be the last I would ever have, and I had had enough. But something always pulled me forward before I had time to stop and go through with it. Obviously, now I had shed my protection of hope like a snake sheds its skin. This was now who I was, and I was meant to die then. I thought this just wasn't how things were supposed to happen, even though they had to. There were no other options. It was the only thing left to do--to finally kill myself, violently, with no more interest whatsoever in asking anyone for help, and realizing that this was how things had to be--and I was moving without really knowing what I was doing. It's always stuck with me that I actually remember what went through my head, but also how slowly it seemed to happen. I learned something new about myself, or at least, about my own idealism and how much I valued making the efforts worth it somehow, if nothing else.