Life is dragging me along for the ride. It’s getting me tied up into more lives, more story-lines... the stickiness is making me anxious and uncomfortable. It’s deluding me and ruining plans.

Why don't I just fuck it all and do it now? The set date is relatively far away. I'm going to end up doing it for real, so the date is far... so much time in between for anything to happen. What exactly do i leave this room for- what is this sprouting disgusting thread of bleak hope that I cling on to with such a tight, pathetic grip. Do I expect myself to live the best i can in the next three months, have some epiphany, and decide against suicide right before it happens?? what about all these years, all the past months of waiting- and wanting to try, but not being able to because ultimately, nothing negates the fact that I'm nothing.