It's strange. This time, suicide doesn't feel like an angry scream against the world. It feels inevitable. Warm, safe, comforting. I'm ready. I have pills and alcohol, and the complete and comprehensive loss of any will to live. I'm sorry to my girlfriend, who loves me and who I love. I'm sorry to my family, but then, you never did care tremendously. I'm hanging onto life by my fingernails and I'm not even scared, and that in itself is bizarre and huge. I'd be able to do, to honestly just stop everything. Peace. Silence. I've already self-harmed, so my legs hurt like a son of a bitch. It's only one step further. If I do it right, it may even be relatively painless. I hope so. THat would be nice. If not, I deserve the pain. I'm sorry.