A confession to the internet (Hi Jim!):

Sometimes, I think about suicide. Actually, that’s a lie. I think about suicide a lot. Whenever I’m depressed (usually I’m trying to do my homework) thoughts of suicide begin to enter my brain. Obviously, I have not followed up on those thoughts, because I am still typing. Why? If you scroll down, you’ll see a pretty impressive (I think so anyways) list of problems. Why haven’t I given up life yet? The answer: I think suicide is selfish. Let me backtrack for a moment here. For a very long time, I have been had fantasies where I save multiple people’s lives. This is what I live for. No matter how many flaws I have, no matter how many problems I have, I know that I have skills. I know that there is still something I can to do improve other people’s lives, no matter how bad my life gets. And I don’t think I could do that to my family. I don’t think that I could violently remove myself from other people’s lives. I think that they would miss me. I know when the Boy Scout in my troop died one day (the cause was never determined) I wondered for months afterwards why he had died. His family was devastated by the sudden and inexplicable loss of their 15 year old son. One day he was laughing and making jokes, and the next day he was dead. I couldn’t do that to the people I care about. I firmly believe that my purpose is to help others be the best they can be, and to help reduce the hatred in this world. This sense of purpose helps me keep going, and is one of the main factors keeping me from falling into permanent depression. This is because I know that no matter how hard things get, I will always have a purpose.

I just used up my deepness quota for the rest of the year, just to let you know.

Sincerely,


Not Ryan Not Clements