Suicide, as an option, always stays in the back of my head.
There's at least one way out.
I hope I am never at the point of really considering it again, but the option is still there. I know it's sick and twisted of me to think, I could end my life any second; I could even end it now. The knowledge that I think these things scares me, as I am for the most part happier now than I've been in a long while. Why does it even come up?
Sometimes, I see a bottle of pills and in my mind they become a tool of destruction. It's dizzying to realize that all I could do is force them all down, and it would be over. Other times, there is a tiny, fleeting urge, only a millisecond long, to jump as I walk across a bridge.
Am I really so insecure that I need to feel this terrible sense of control over my life?
In response to everyone who wished me luck on starting the school year:
I'll live. I just don't find it enjoyable and feel that there are better things I could be doing with my time. I was quite baffled and touched by your concern.