THE BELL JAR, by Sylvia Plath, has long been one of my favorite books of all time. I think more than enjoying the content of the book itself, my affection is directed towards the fact that I identify with Plath. She was a slave to her life and a slave to her madness. I am the same. People tell you that we create our own lives, through our choices and decisions. I do not agree with that. I think we create our own reality, but not our own lives. I can choose to look at myself and my life in any way I wish, but I cannot choose what will and will not happen to me or what happens to others that, in turn, affects me. Life is one continuous game of Russian Roulette--some of us get cancer, some of us win the lotto, some of us die before we are even born into this world, and some of us live decades beyond our prime.
The idea of suicide has always appealed to me. Not because I plan on taking my own life, but because I like the idea of being able to control your own end. I don't like chance. I don't like fate. I don't like surprises. This life is hard enough with its endless cycles of that which is given and that which is taken away. Ultimately, death is the Grand Exit--shouldn't we be given the opportunity to write our own final chapter?
I think yes.