ostensible

There is a point in every good lie where it falls apart and reveals the truth somehow, while still lying. It is always at the point where I want the lie to be true too much.

My whole life has, beneath all the good days and belly laughs and childlike facades, the desire for death. It has become such a part of my life, and I have become so aware through this that I am too much of a coward ever to actually fulfill it, that I hardly notice it any more. A suicide threat from me, my good friends, is little more than "I had a bad day" or even "I had a bad moment." This is because, even when things are going good, the desire for death is there, and when things are not so good it quickly shows its face. And yet... there is nothing I fear worse than death. Which, is why I have never fulfilled that desire. So people tell me to face my fears and I think "If I was strong enough to face my fears I would be dead" and then I do not face them. But lately I have been facing them and I have learned that sometimes we fear things for a good reason. So I still fear death and I still do not think I will face it. Maybe another ten years of wanting it so badly will convince me.

A person who wants to die has no friends. At least no person they can actually talk truthfully with. If one goes about responding to "How are you?" with "I think I want to kill myself" too often they will soon be hospitalized methinks. If one goes about even telling the best of friends the truth, those friends will soon grow weary of them. In fact it is those friends that make me want to live. And I want them to make me want to live. I become dependent on them to make me want to live. Because always in life there is pain present, either too often or too much for me to handle. And in my opinion I have been one of the few luckiest human beings ever to live. But the only thing that has ever made me want to live is people being happy with me. I have decided that even my writing is a way of communicating with people when they are not around.

I think being ill all day yesterday felt way too good. I was hoping that perhaps the disease would kill me, make the decision for me. That is what I was thinking. I was thinking how the rest of the world went on fine without me and nobody even missed me and I was thinking "today is a good day to die."

But I must be fine. I get good grades. I have some friends. I have a job. Yes, I must be fine. It's a good lie. It just falls apart sometimes when I want it to be true too much.