August 31st, 2000
I am beginning to hate these people, to hear every thought loud in my head, so loud that I cannot focus on the faces. Even now the thoughts are pushing on the back of my eyes, the repeated images are a flickering projection I cannot stop. Maybe this desperation is the feeling of life creeping up on me, and not knowing where to go or what to do. Death seems so safe, so final, so silent.
I realised that I’ve been tidying to prepare for my death, and now I’m ready. I have been looking up the pills I’ve hoarded to see if what I have is enough to be sure.