Could it be that suicide, in certain circumstances, is actually just a rational response to unbearable psychic pain? Naturally we accept this when the physical condition has deteriorated an unacceptable state, but what about the mental condition? Take myself for example. A typical day for me consists of waking up in a state of excruciating anguish at the fact that I am still alive, in this body, and that I'm alone. Then I feel like I literally have to climb a mountain just to get out of bed. Then I get to work, surrounded by people that serve to remind me of all my shortcomings in life by way of comparison. They are all married. They are all friends with each other. They are all socially and interpersonally connected in ways that I will never be. They are happy and content. And they mostly have contempt for me because I'm inferior to them in all facets of life. I have no one to talk to there, and nothing to talk with them about even if I did. Does anyone want to hear about how many times I thought about killing myself today or go into detail about how I plan to do it? No, so I keep to myself. Then at the end of a long, agonizing day of being a social outcast, I get to come home to an empty house. This is yet another reminder of the fact I have been unable to have a single successful relationship in all of my 35 failure-laden years. My suicidal ideation becomes more intense during this time of day. I usually scramble for something, anything, to keep my mind occupied. I sometimes choose to go out drinking as a reasonable distraction if I can manage to find someone to go out with. I will drink to the point of intoxication, get even more depressed, drive home, then fall into a puddle on my bathroom floor and start sobbing uncontrollably. This lasts anywhere between 30 minutes to an hour. I somehow manage to drag myself to bed, but usually only sleep for 4-5 hours before I start waking up every hour, on the hour, until I have to get up and the cycle repeats itself. I ruminate at night about how badly I fucked up all of my relationships, how no one will ever love me again, and how hopeless my situation is. If you were me, wouldn't you want to kill yourself? Wouldn't anyone? I don't think I'm crazy because I want to die in these circumstances. One of the things that I really wanted in life was to get married and have my own family. That will never happen, ever. I have been depressed for over 20 years, and I believe that depression has an end stage. I am in that end stage. I have made preparations, and I expect to be ready soon. I used to rely on the fact that I was young and there was still hope that I would find someone to pull me out of this. That is no longer the case. I am now getting old and no one really cares anymore. And there is nothing out there that gives me any pleasure anymore. My life is devoid of happiness or pleasure of any sort. Food tastes bland. Movie plots are dull and worn-out. Conversations are tedious and vapid. I can't even sit still long enough to read a book. I don't want to have hope anymore. I want to lose hope because in trying to get better, it only serves to prolong my suffering. This has to end. No one, not even me, deserves to live like this.