What it’s like to live with a chronic urge to die

What is it like to live without a chronic urge to die? At least since I was 7, I have been contemplating my mortality. This is also not to say I despise being alive - after so many years, I think that I have had enough and would like to leave the table now, thank you. Of course I have been diagnosed with depression and of course I have been put on medications for it. What I have not done yet is to act on my "suicidal ideations" and have made measures to prevent myself from suiciding willy-nilly (in particular, I do not own a gun despite enjoying going to the gun range and hunting with friends). I have also never been committed to any sort of mental facility for these thoughts, so cannot relate to some of the things in this article - it seems like a hell scape I should do well to avoid.

But back on to suicide. Sure, my thoughts of suicide do increase when I have depressive episodes, but it's not like I'm constantly in a depressive state. I have good days, weeks where I am productive and manage to enjoy the things I enjoy. In doing so, I've come to realize something in general about my frame of mind regarding suicide. Thinking about suicide makes me indelibly happy. At my lowest of lows, I fantasize longingly to turn the lights off. At my highest of highs, I still think to myself that: here, here is where we should cancel the show. I even feel that my mindset towards suicide has contributed towards its prevention. I have an ideal version of my death. I do desperately want to die, but I want to die without being beholden specifically to anyone or anything, including my mental illness.

It is a crisp Autumn day in New England. It is where I spent my childhood years. The leaves are awash in a flurry of reds, oranges, and tinges of brown. I am happy - without a depressive episode turning my screen to gray, without duties or obligations holding me back, without a care in the world. And...

I go on. So how can others go on living when death seems so sweet?