When you think about it, death must be peaceful. To live in an endless sleep must be a dream. There's got to be something to look forward to in death - everyone does it. Everyone fucking dies.
Does the length of your life really matter, then? Does it matter if you live to be twenty or fifty or a hundred? Eventually, everyone that knew you will die. And everyone that knew them will die. And so it continues until the chaos eventually consumes us all and all humans perish.
So does it matter? Does it really matter if I don't live to see 21? Will they be upset if I didn't?
Sure, I might get a few instagram shout outs and my Facebook wall will turn into some sort of online memorial, but will anyone stay up at night and think about me? Or will they rest easy knowing that there's one less malicious son of a bitch wandering around? Probably the latter.
They'll move on. It may take a couple days or months, but eventually my memory will fade and I'll be the subject of a therapy session and little else. Maybe I'll be thrown into a small anecdote at a business party ten years down the road, followed by a soft smile and then forgotten just as easily.
So does it matter? Put in to perspective, I am one person in a world of billions. There must be people out there just like me who aren't happy with the lives they lead and wonder how they could live in eternal happiness. And then they realize that the only way to be truly happy is to not exist. That's the only solution. I could live an eternal death and be happy as a clam.
There's a few things I think I'd want people to know. I would want the people who are surprised by my departure to know that everyone wears a mask. No one is as content as they may seem. I'd want them to know that everyone you meet is still a human and leads a life you know nothing about.
I'd want people who were saddened by my death to know that I am happy. Nothing here makes me happy like the idea of death. And that's fucked up and I'm sorry but we're probably all better off for it.
I'd want people who are angry at my death to know you are totally justified in feeling that way. It's a selfish thing to do. To leave you all here wondering why I'd ever take such drastic measures. And I want you to be mad at me. I want you to feel hurt by my actions and blame me for them. After all, there is no one else to blame. Take a shit on my grave as the ultimate sign of anger and I will welcome it with a smile from under your feet.
But most of all, I'd want the people who are closest to me to know that I love them dearly, and with all my heart. Every single one of you was always good enough for me. But I wasn't good enough for myself. You were the reason I made it this far and I'm sorry I couldn't push myself further. I couldn't ask for more wonderful people in my life and I honestly didn't deserve any of you.
I love you all. And here I am writing this knowing that I'm a peice of shit for it. So I'll ask again: does it matter?
