I said I was conflicted. I am conflicted. That's no surprise to anyone, I shouldn't wonder. It's a surprise to me. I am conflicted. I am admitting that I'm conflicted.

That's the cue for everyone who silently didn't want me to commit suicide to rush in and jam their foot in the door, and if I had comments on this weblog, maybe they would. But I don't.

But hopefully they wouldn't because I've either been so successful in convincing everyone that it's the right thing for me to do, that I should follow my heart in doing it, or people are just so sick of me prattling on and on about it that they'd be telling me to put them out of their misery and get it over with.

Alright, fine, it doesn't take a genius to figure out there was conflict, but I'm no genius, and there's a reason why this weblog is so one-sided about suicide, or at least I think it's one-sided. The coin I keep flipping is one of those one-sided ones. Only it's not. It's one of those two-sided coins which lands on one side 999 out of 1,000 flips. And then there's that 1.

What so specific about this life is so special to live it? It's sitting. Sure, I can do it in a future life, I could even probably do it "better", with a proper community, with proper guidance, with proper training. But sitting is so sublime and indescribable, and . . . this is what stopped me several weeks ago that I wasn't able to articulate. I still can't, and I can't articulate how it's the same thing, but it is.

I won't talk about sitting. I couldn't describe what sitting is, or what sitting is supposed to be. I don't know how or why I got started. I'm sure I read about it and just gave it a shot and realized it was something. I didn't need training, guidance, or community to know I was plugging into something.

10, 15, 20 minutes was hard in the early days, and if just sitting still for 10, 15, 20 minutes was hard, then it must have been something. Now, at 30-45 minutes, difficulty isn't even a consideration, and what it is has changed over the years. It's still a thing, but it's something if I keep doing will become something I'm not even imagining now. No training, no guidance, no community.

It's not that my sitting is unique and that's special, it doesn't have anything to do with individuality, but it has something to do with 'agency'. And that was the word several weeks ago when I stopped. I don't know why or what it means. I vaguely remember a thought of, "I can't die, who else is there to write about it (my dying)". Again, I have no idea what that means, but it's not as trite as it is on the surface. I guess you had to be there.

I know I can't communicate this, and I'm not even trying because it would end up sounding like a paradox, and I would look like even more of an idiot, and it's not a paradox. It's just one. I'm not good at articulating the reasons to live. Funny, I'm not good at even recognizing them. I could use a little help here, but I don't have comments. And I don't want anyone to try and then fail.