Life. What is the meaning of life? I know, such an original way to start. But really, have you ever sat down and tried to figure it out? Have you figured it out? Well, if you have, I'd like to salute you and possibly ask you some questions.

But what about death? What's the meaning of death? Have you ever sat down and tried to figure that one out?

Maybe you've been asked the question, "If you had ten lives, how would you live them?" And maybe you had your fairy tale goody-good answers that you've had since you were born. But what if someone asked you, "If you had ten deaths, how would you choose them?" Would you have an immediate response to that?

How would you die ten times? I'm sure you've never pondered it. And neither did I. I never thought that I would have to make that decision, although I had it coming.

Some say the only way to find happiness is to find unhappiness. What if its the same? What if the only way to find out the meaning of life is to find out the meaning of death? To die ten times? To choose the way the world will remember you? To write your own legacy?

Maybe you've never even considered any of this, but don't worry, I'm sure you will. I'm sure of it.

Death is final. Or is it?

Maybe you've never thought about dying. Maybe you have. Maybe you're repulsed by the thought. Maybe you're scared of death, as you have the right to be.

I often asked myself, "What's the point of living?" And then I found the answer. The point of living is to only find pain, cruelty, heartbreak, and evil. There was no lasting good in life, but there was definitely lasting bad.

And so essentially, there was no point of living. Well, at least for people like me. I'm sure there are some out there who have It all together and they know why they're living. Purpose is the word. They have purpose and they know it. Silently, I hated and envied those people. I know people always say no one has it all together, no matter how good they appear. So maybe they don't, but they sure have more together than me.

Me. Me. Is it human nature or is it just me that is so selfish? All I've ever thought of was myself. No one mattered nearly as much. I used to think I was selfless, helping others. But I realised I was just trying to make myself look good. So it was still about me.

Good people. What is that supposed to mean? Who is a "good" person? If there even is a definition, I'm far from it. I've always hated the world and everything that was put in it. I never found joy in other people's happiness. I never was sad for someone else, no matter how bad their situation may be. I never felt anything for anyone else but me. I was the spot on definition of the devil. Of course, I didn't find happiness in doing wrong, but I didn't find it in doing right, either.

I simply couldn't find happiness. And I believe that makes me broken. A broken human that was put here by mistake. Like a broken toy. See, there are two ways to fix a broken toy. One, you can repair it. But it was much too late to repair me. The second way to fix a broken toy is to dispose of it, drop into a fire so it can take its place with the burnt crisp ashes of every other broken toy.

And that was the way to fix me, too.