And there were others, not as vivid, but they all had the same unshakable belief that they were doomed. And she had it, too. A terrible hard-bitten pessimism, an absolute gloom. She never foresaw a future in which she was included.
A psychiatrist he met over the years confessed one night at a private moment that he wrestled with the impulse to commit suicide each day. He got up every morning and it was a task as certain as shaving and going to the office: he must not kill himself.
Scott Turow, The Burden of Proof
That last sentence, it was a task as certain as shaving...he must not kill himself, is desperately poignant. It's a place I - and I'm sure most of us - have been, and describes the dread routine of despair better than I have ever read, or heard.
Hi. My name is Greg, and I wrestle with the impulse to commit suicide each day.
*wry grin*
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