It figures that those who tend to love their lives die young, while someone like me who literally can't stand his own existence will probably live to a ripe old age. Living and dying just seem like too much of a hassle. Not to mention that the way they're both doled out is just too unfair. What does "better" even mean for someone like me anymore? I'm already dead on the inside. The damage is done; it's too late for anything else. It also doesn't matter if someone can't take it anymore. The universe doesn't care. If anything, it'll only mock you for thinking so by the fact of your continued existence. Unless I'm willing to tie the knot around a doorknob and put my head into the noose; the pain will continue. It's honestly that simple, but that doesn't stop my inability to just get on with it and do it from being any less of an excruciating predicament to grapple with.