I say what is worse than death than living for nothing? Animals died for me to keep on living. Fuel burnt. Somebody died manning an oil drill, welding an underground cable, so I could eat, drive to work, browse the Internet, and for what?

For what?

One may ask, how could those meaningful questions be possibly worse than the ideation of self-termination?

I outgrew even that. I no longer thought of or have the want for killing myself, likely because subconsciously I know I have already died.

I have replaced the suicidal thoughts with something worse: the genuine thought of why am I actually alive, what am I living for, and what's after this "life"?

I think I could define my "death" as a point where I first had the idea of suicide. Used to be it was something I could never wrap my head around having, but one day... one day it just comes up.

It started as a what if, to a rough plan and time of doing it—a date—which had long passed.

Sure feels like I do. So much so it killed me. But what have I got to show for it?

I remember having a wish of some kind, a dream, a way of life that I had envisioned for myself. Now not only don't I have one anymore, but I also don't remember what that even used to be.

I no longer recognize myself. I look into the mirror and don't know who that face belongs to that I'm staring at. In practice, obviously that's me, but who's "me"?

I ask myself that many times. Who am I, why am I here, what am I going for, and what do I want? Am I working hard enough to get it?