“Do you know how easy it would be to kill myself in a car wreck? Do you know how simple it would be to push the accelerator down harder and to swerve into the next car I see? It would be so god damn easy.
Or how easy it would be to go into my pain killer addicted parents cabinet and take all of everything? It would be so easy. There’s no complexity to it.

Or I could take an old softball belt—the kinds that are stretchy but still sturdy, and I could tie it around the support beam in my room, like I have so many times, and then slip my neck in and jump off the stairs.

It would be so god damn fucking easy.

Here’s the hard part. I’m a very cognitive person, and I can’t think of all of that without thinking of the family of the driver in the car that I could hit. I couldn’t eat all those little white pills without realizing that it would be my mom who found me lifeless and cold on the floor like she has so many times before. I couldn’t jump without knowing that when my dad goes down to do laundry, my hanging shell of a person would be all he saw. 

Disregard the expression, I couldn’t live with myself knowing that. 

But boy, would it be easy.”