I'm not sure if I should really post this, but I'm feeling needy and lonely. I was cleaning out an old box of memorabilia, and found a suicide note I wrote shortly after the divorce. Here it is:

"The sheer variety of human life never ceases to amaze me. Between differences of body, mind and personality there exists such an assortment that one never need question their uniqueness. It is as though each person is a book with randomly selected characters. The vast majority of such books are, of course, incoherent. Some, however, are lucid, and some even brilliant. Sadly there are also books that are lucid but false. The words make sense, but they are lies. such books are dangerous, and must destroyed. I am one.

This is not a rash decision on my part. I have been suicidal before, but it has always passed. I am not depressed. I am numb. My continued existence is harmful to the natural order of the universe; my particular random assortment of genes is an aberration, and I use the strength of numbness to erase it"

I go on to list my last wishes in similarly dramatic fashion. After I wrote it, I drank a fifth of vodka, swallowed 100 aspirin and locked myself in the garage with the car running, no exaggeration. The story of how I lived is almost as interesting.