I finally admitted something to myself: I don't care if I die. I know that's been rolling around in my head for a long time now, but something's changed about what that idea means to me. It means my will to live is really gone. Recently my therapist asked me if I would care if something happened to me, and I said no. But my answer was cavalier. I've thought a lot about it since then. And I've really taken a look inside myself. I realized that now it really is coming from the core of my being. I really don't care if I die. It's real to me now. The illusions are all gone. I'm scared. Scared of my life actually ending, although I know that's the survival instinct. Scared of the end hurting. Scared that if I'm honest with my therapist, he'll have me hospitalized. I want to live. But if the price of living is all this mental pain, then the price is too high. I've gotten nothing but pain and empty promises for 18 years. I wish someone could convince me that in 50 years I won't be exactly the same, but I know that no one can tell me what's in the future. All I have to go on is history, and history says it won't ever change. Enough is enough. I'm done.