So. Yeah. This is my suicide note. Be warned, it's gonna be a long one.

I decided when I was pretty young that I was born to die. I mean, we all are, dust to dust and shit. But as life has consistently been an excruciating shitfest since the moment I developed the faculty of long-term memory, I made the choice to die once I got to a certain age.

Why not get it over with earlier? Well, everyone told me it was worth it. Living, that is. It's gonna get better. You'll overcome this. Light at the end of the tunnel, calm after the storm, silver linings, you know, the whole motivational starter pack.

I consider myself to be a sensible person, so I listened. I waited. I struggled. I let things be. I moved. I slept. I tried new hobbies. I medidated. I travelled. I had pets. They died. I loved people. They also died. I hated people. Those lasted a little loger, but mostly died too. I fucked. I made love. I puked. I studied. I tried.

And you know what? I got to the light at the end of the tunnel. I tasted the calm after the storm. I stuffed my face with silver linings.

Annnnd no. Nope. Not worth it.

So, I'll fullfill the promise I made to myself when I was fourteen and I'll end myself. I have reached the limit age. I had everything planned, every detail sorted out.

Until this fucking pandemic exploded and quarantine screwed my schedule.

So now I basically have to wait until this is all over to off myself. 

This is my day-to-day record of my crappy last moments, so I can reach death without going insane first. 

I wonder if you wonder if this is for real or a work of fiction.

The answer is yes.