There are days that I contemplate what I would say in my suicide note.

When I sit down to write something and stare at the blank page I wonder what I would write down if I knew it were the last thing I was going to write. I wonder if I could fit so much into writing. There never seem to be enough words, and yet sometimes I feel that there are too many.

I don't know if I could explain it all well enough to have people understand, or that I could find the words that would impart any sort of comfort. When I think about it, the words seem too small, not enough to fill up the emotions that I'm feeling.

And then as suddenly as they arrived the thought fleets away and I'm no longer wondering what I would write. I make my grocery list or jot down my thought and walk away. But somewhere in my brain the feeling still nags at me. I still wonder if there are any words that I could offer that would make my actions justified, if anyone would understand.

I tuck these thoughts away, put them to sleep for a time. I know that inevitably I will return to them. But for the time I continue moving forward.