There are not one, but TWO crappy titled for this! YAY FOR MIND PUKE Are we ever ready to die? Please Enjoy. Or not. ><><><><><>< Death and Dying and all That I wasn't shocked when I found out I was going to die. In fact, I had been planning it for quite a while now. I had straightened out every single detail, exactly how it should be done. I was spoilt for choice really. Where to die, how to die, when to die... The possibilities were endless. It took quite a while for me to make up my mind. I decided to overdose. It took a little while. I slowly stockpiled the medication I was meant to be taking, my housemates oblivious to this fact. They were mainly antidepressants and painkillers. For my depression and self harming, if that wasn't already obvious. After a couple of weeks, I had enough to definitely end my life. Where to die? I wanted to die in this house. The only proper place I'd been able to call home. In my bedroom, sitting against the wall, looking out of the window. That sounded a little nicer than kicking the bucket in some dirty alleyway where nobody goes. When... When the house was empty, of course. Though it took a while for that to happen. I waited during the time I collected my pills, and another three weeks on top of that. All the while knowing I was going to die. But finally there was a day where everybody else was busy. So I took my pills from where I hid them and locked myself in my bedroom. I glanced at the moderately sized pile of pills in my lap. I had no idea what all of this would do, some of it was powerful stuff. Leaning back against the wall, I took the glass of water in one hand and the first pill in the other. One by one, at a surprisingly quick pace, the pills disappeared. I swallowed the final pill and emptied the glass of water. Then I stared out of the window for a bit. I knew I was going to die. But I didn't quite realise what that meant until I felt something funny. I coughed, blood spattering onto my clothes. And a couple of specks of something that could've been part of my oesophagus. I realised I was going to die. This was what I wanted, wasn't it? I had all that time to do anything left that I wanted to do. Weeks and weeks of knowing this was going to happen. This wasn't a surprise. I coughed again. More blood. Some went on the carpet. I felt dizzy, and despite all those painkillers an awful burning sensation in my stomach was rapidly worsening. I didn't have much time left. I tried to clear my mind. Stare out of the window. Stare at the sun or something. But my mind kept up an almost panicked internal monologue. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. The pain was becoming unbearable. My mind stopped panicking and sank into a haze. Thoughts weren't very sharp. My vision was blackening around the edges. I felt... Sleepy. But after realising I was going to die, I realised I wasn't ready to die. There was so much to do! I just wanted to get up and do something. Prove I was still alive. Was I still alive? Barely. I was dying. It was far too late for these sorts of thoughts. But that was okay, because those thoughts were going away too. Everything was going away, even the pain. My eyes had closed at some point. Or was I unconscious? No, I wasn't unconscious. My eyes were still open. I had died. Took me a little while to realise that though.