I was very prepared to kill myself this evening. I had everything planned out very carefully. This was no spur of the moment affair. I knew I couldn’t swallow pills, so I spent an hour grinding them very very fine, last night.

So tonight, I got my yoghurt, a big old container. I spooned a healthy amount into a bowl, as much as I thought I could eat in one sitting. Then I sprinkled in the crushed pill powder and stirred it up very well, took a bite…and gagged. It was too bitter, and I cursed myself nine ways to hell. I couldn’t add more, because I wouldn’t have been able to eat it all, and I don’t think even the whole container of yoghurt would have drowned out the bitter taste. And now that the powder was mixed in I couldn’t do anything else with it.

I’m obviously still alive. I had other ideas, but they weren’t great. And I’m careful. I’ve been trying to kill myself for two years now, and I’m still alive, because I don’t choose the most lethal methods. See, I want to die, but I don’t want to live disabled more than depression already hobbles me. It took me over a year to make good on my threat of jumping off a bridge because while it had a better chance of killing me than anything else I’d tried, I was well aware failure could leave me paralyzed, as indeed it almost did. I came very, very close to losing the use of my legs.

That’s why I chose the pills instead of the next option down on my list, which was hanging. The pills would probably have killed me, but if not, there would be no lasting side effects. If I manage to botch hanging myself, I could come away with brain damage. So now I have to come up with something else that will work, hopefully before I get too desperate to think straight and jump off something that doesn’t have water at the bottom. I’d rather die, but if I’m going to live, I’d like to be whole. After all, it’s hard to commit suicide when you’re paralyzed.