I wish I had someone to talk to. But I could only talk to someone I loved. And if I loved someone, I wouldn't need to talk. How typical.

I've been challenging myself lately on the suicide thing. Maybe it's a climate thing and this base desire to live will stop in a few weeks. In any case, I've succeeded in thoroughly . . . not confusing myself . . . just equivocating at a time when there is no motivation to equivocate.

I tell myself to keep steady, and the most important thing is to be confident and not be confused about my belief. I've always been open to what I believe in, and self-doubt is not a positive part of that process. If I decide against suicide, it has to be positive and affirming, not a result of self-doubt or fear.

When you lay a foundation for a house, you have to build a house. You can't change while it's going up and decide that you want to build a skyscraper or a ship. If you lay the keel, you're going to build a ship. You can't decide later that you want to build a statue without tearing everything down and starting from scratch.

Suicide isn't something that occurs to me in bad times as a permanent solution to a temporary problem. It's the foundation of the way I live my life. And I've been twisting and turning every possibility that could be built on that foundation without having to tear it all down and start from scratch.

That's why it's so hard when I get to the brink and find myself feeling like living indefinitely, without some sort of end date. It would be like trying to build an airplane out of the foundation of a house. A) It won't fly; B) airplanes don't need a basement.

So this is the point where my imaginary interventionists jump in like Craig's List Suicide Note Respondents and start spewing bunk about being strong and being able to turn my life around, change, and live, it's possible if I try. And this is when I give my blanket response to all those respondents: You just don't get it.

They're empty words in the end because they don't get it. Because they dismiss years and years, months and months, days and days, hours and hours of a psyche fragile built on a foundation that assumes its own dissolution, all with a quick stroke of uninformed idealism. Yet I'm still here. Granted, with no friends, no family, no job, no career, no talent, no prospects, but I'm here.