When I was young I used to long for tragedy to swiftly come and relieve me of my family...

I didn't want my life.

I figured if they were gone then there would be nobody to hurt when I made my departure, and I wouldn't have to watch them waste away...

It seemed logical to me...

I would wonder why when I started talking openly about my own suicide people would get really quiet and even clam right up.

I didn't understand why it was such a big deal...

(I mean it is my life isn't it?)

I was confused as to why they couldn't be happy for me knowing what I wanted to do with my life..
                  I didn't understand...

I thought to finish "the race" was the goal.

And it made sense to me that if I did not fit into these classifications of occupation that I had no business being here...

(So why drag it out?)

               I thought it could be like a celebration...

All of us gathered around a bedside or a table somewhere with balloons all around us

And for the time we had together we would all be smiling...

Laughing in photogenic blissful ambience.

Fading out of focus because the end is too cold to bear...

I was so confused...

But the feeling never really went anywhere...

It just stayed.

And I didn't...