I'm ending it.

The worst part of it is I by what seemed to be some miracle survived a suicide attempt almost half my life ago, and mistook it for some sort of portent, that I should take another crack at it, and life was even fucking gayer the second go-around. It's like some sick joke. At least in the first half it was just a generalized depression and I was getting laid and partying and whatever else looks like a real life from the outside. Now it's just an endless series of sickening insults against life itself and every day I continue to exist fills me with shame at my cowardice.

I did establish two benchmarks to talk me off the ledge: one this October, and one next October. If I meet both, I'll stick it out to the bitter end. If not, I'm wandering off into the woods to disappear and eating my gun.

I'm not really that bitter, and most of my failures are my own. I do have the same basic /pol/-tier resentments of modernity, of Jews and pajeets and niggers and feminism and everything else destroying the future of humanity, but in my own life, I just feel I was unlucky like most people are. I never caught a real break and blew the few limited, bullshit opportunities which came my way.

It does suck to see it all dangled out before you, to know that some people will get to take it all for fucking granted, will get everything they want without much effort, but you'll have to beg and bow and scrape, and even then it's doubtful. So I'm fucking tired of it, again, and this pointless struggle and fucking humiliation without recourse, again and again, just wound upon wound, and this time I'm fucking using .40-caliber.

I hope it works out better for you all.