“Suicide is man’s way of telling God, “You can’t fire me – I quit.”” — Bill Maher 

 

I don’t understand what the point of living is if you are miserable and ultimately going to die anyways. With every day your body is growing older and dying. It seems to me that if you want to end your own life then you should have the right to do so. People around you and who “care” for you may be sad at first but eventually they will get over it and forget all about you. It will be as if you never even existed which is exactly how it will be in sixty years or so when you die from cancer or whatever else it is that kills you. There is no difference..

“Life is like a movie, if you’ve sat through more than half of it and its sucked every second so far, it probably isn’t gonna get great right at the end and make it all worthwhile. None should blame you for walking out early.” — Doug Stanhope 

 

“Suicide is man’s way of telling God, “You can’t fire me – I quit.”” — Bill Maher 

         Christmas time is generally a time when people spend time with people they love. With me, I do love my family I suppose, but I would much rather not be with them. For the most part, they just remind me of death. They all sit around after presents, talking about all of the newest deaths in the family and among friends. Some of the people talking about these things look like they should be dead themselves. Their hair is white and falling out, their skin is falling off, their memory is fading and they are always mean and cranky. All I can think about when I am near them is, “Is that how I’m going to  be?”  The whole thing is really depressing.

           “ A tiny blade will sever the sutures of the neck, and when that joint, which binds together head and neck, is cut, the body’s mighty mass crumples in a heap. No deep retreat conceals the soul, you need no knife at all to root it out, no deeply driven wound to find the vital parts; death lies near at hand . . . . Whether the throat is strangled by a knot, or water stops the breathing, or the hard ground crushes in the skull of one falling headlong to its surface, or flame inhaled cuts off the course of respiration—be it what it may; the end is swift.”

   –Seneca