As I lay in my bed, I was holding a really, really sharp knife to my throat. After slowly breathing in and out, my breath gradually slowed down to a point that it just felt very comfortable. Then I thrust the knife with all my might into my throat.

I could kind of vividly taste the blood in my mouth, though I doubt the pain of being stabbed in the throat and unable to breathe that my brain was able to fabricate is anything compared to the real one.

I thought to myself, if I were actually holding a knife, I could really have done that. I kinda liked the feeling too, but I wasn't scared of myself. That should have made me unable to fear death, still I found myself wanting to live.

I was glad i didn't sneer at myself.