Death is a liberation.
And like every true liberation, it is not easy.
Not because it's complex, but because it has been made sacred, forbidden, wrapped in fear and guilt.
Biology says: 'No, stay.'
Religion says: 'Suffer, and earn grace.'
Politics — which pretends to be secular — imitates religion in everything:
it punishes those who want to leave, and glorifies those who endure.
Once, there were barbiturates.
A box, a glass of brandy or Baileys, a quiet decision.
The person went home, played a record, wrote a few lines, and let go.
Fell asleep without pain.
It was too easy. And so, unacceptable.
They couldn't allow someone to leave without paying a price.
So they banned everything soft, fast, painless.
Now, only threat remains. The filter of fear. The rawness of the naked gesture.
And yet, it's still simple. Not easy, but simple.
A rope. A solid anchor point. A knot.
Suspension.
The body stops reacting.
Breath breaks.
Time implodes inward.
No spectacle needed. No farewell speech. Just decision.
But we've reached a paradoxical place:
we can no longer bear even 5 or 15 seconds of concentrated physical pain,
yet we can endure years, decades of diluted psychological agony —
which isn't even that diluted,
because life strikes in sudden, brutal blows,
again and again,
with a precision that borders on mythological cruelty.
There are people who fear those few seconds of tension —
but have already survived traumas that would make that moment pale in comparison.
The problem is not that it's impossible.
The problem is that we've been convinced it must hurt — and hurt a lot.
That you have to "earn" your exit.
That you must pay in fear for what you choose in clarity.
And if you don't have that kind of courage, you will stay.
And here, we suffer. We suffer a lot.
But don't say it can't be done.
It can.
It's just that the world has done everything it can to make you believe you can't.