I've lived the last three years of my life as an unsuicidal. That's not to say that suicide wasn't a part of my life before then, far from it. Depression and suicide go hand in hand, much like loneliness and depression. I have a hard time believing that I am merely a product of nature and nurture. Really it's more then that, there is more to it, but truly they are less quantifiable. It's that unknown that shades the darker parts of what it is that makes me what I am. I sit here in the dim light and stare at the off white of the monitor and I am left empty. The true motivation for starting what I was to write here is gone. Because I let my mind wander it found it's why to the places I try not to go. Really that is any place not stuffed with abject trivia or firmly seated in the present. Life is in fact endurable so long as there is a control of what is and not what was or might be. You can fool yourself into believing anything so long as you don't pick at it, a useful survival trait I've found, but a double edged sword that leaves a lot of empty holes. And holes are fine so long as you don't look into them. It makes me feel scared of heights. The worst part of it all is that fear of falling, knowing you're on the edge of something and knowing that the depth is considerable, but not bottomless and that the end is both painful and final. In the end it's not the fear of death, but the fear of the pain before death. Really the rational part of my mind is absolutely assured that there is nothing but oblivion after death and the irrational mind is soothed by that thought. Every time seems like the last, but it's not and now the reality of it makes it so much worse. I know want to commit suicide, but there is enough of myself resistant to the idea. It's a part of myself I can't cut away. So I am set into a cycle, I come to this point, toy with plans and set things in place to calm that part of me that doesn't want to die and I agonize for a few days, a week, or a month. Even that ebbs and flows like tide. I can't find it in myself to let go, either way. I can't kill myself but I don't want to lose the despair I am in as it might be enough and mean that this could be the time. It's a foolish dream and soon I will let go and forget and build up walls of nonsense and media to keep myself manageable. In the meantime all I have is more and more attempts to analyze and rationalize and internalize. Sometimes I go dark and seek death, sometimes I seek a cure. Neither comes and I fear neither will until one day it will be over and I won't even notice it happened.