******* WARNING ******* Do not read if you are offended or triggered by references to suicide.

I know I am dreaming as I lay in this fog. Sounds fade in and out, echoing as I drift away to other places and lands.

I know also time is fleeting and there is very little future ahead of me. This I know to be true. Some truths are self-evident. This is one of those truths. We can deny it, pretend otherwise, wish, rail, scream and beg, but time does not wait. It marches forward and we can think we slow it, but that’s a fool’s errand.

Life. We say each is worth living. But is that a truth?

No. For many it is not. For too many, life is a slog, a drag to live in poverty and misery. Or if not, perhaps in the hell only mental illness can make. It can be a place of such horror and pain, suicide is a welcoming door.

That door has tempted me in the past and still does today. Doctors offer treatment in the form of pills and talk. Often it works for short periods. But lately … lately the pull of that door has become stronger. Lately, I’ve found my hand upon the doorknob. The desire to turn it and step over the threshold is strong and getting stronger.

I don’t feel this always. There are times when life is good. Where I see worth in the day and in others. There are projects to finish and to start.  But I wonder why?

Why do this? What does it matter? The sands of time will cover all and my time here will mean nothing. Sooner than later there will be nothing left of me and those who knew me will disappear also.

And yet we strive. I can only suppose it keeps us from thinking about what is to come.

While I appreciate you deciding to read this, but there is no need to comment on it.