My mental health started tanking about the time I started school, and the symptoms I now recognize as Major Depressive Disorder started when I was eight. I was absolutely fed up with life by my freshman year in high school.
I remember realizing that I had a life expectancy of like 75 years or something, and I only had 14 down. There was just this dizzy, sick kind of feeling, like vertigo. Like a chasm opening up under my feet, and as soon as I'd just about grasped its size and depth, the bottom dropped out, and it got deeper. That's what the last 36 years have been like—the endless sense of falling into a pit that expands further downward the longer I fall.
I wish I'd had the guts to end it at 14. I wish I'd had the guts to end it ever. Shakespeare wrote that a coward dies a thousand deaths, while the valiant taste death only once. I'm the guy dying a thousand deaths. My imagination is just too good. I've lived those final moments over and over in my head, and since I'm too scared to do it for real, it will never stop.
God, I hate me. I'd like to get rid of me, but I can't. I'll be 50 next month. I don't think I'll live to be anywhere close to 75, because stress and self-destructive habits have wrecked my health. I'm still going to be here way too long, though. I keep hoping to die instantly in an accident or by taking a fatal head shot from some maniac (other than myself), but it keeps not happening. It really pisses me off that so many vibrant people who love life are taken so young and so unwillingly, and then here I am, a miserable fuck who's practically mummy dust, going on and on and on ….
(Not suggesting that all 50 yo people are ancient and decrepit. Most are just living out the second half of their middle-age years. They're hitting their career peak, they're becoming empty nesters, they're un-becoming empty nesters when their kids move back in along with their grandkids, etc. I just personally have had a rough fucking life, on top of rolling snake eyes in the genetic game of chance. My mom died in her early 50's and I may as well, which I'm more than happy to do. In fact, if you're the praying type, pray that a piano falls on me tomorrow. Or just a one-ton weight. It doesn't particularly have to be a piano.)