Here I am sitting in the dark, freezing my fingers off wondering what I’m going to do with myself.

Maybe I’ll do nothing.
Maybe I’ll freeze.
Maybe I’ll die.

I guess you could call this my suicide journal.

And how do I plan to do myself in?
What is my preferred method?

Time.
My plan is to overdose on it.

And who am I?
I am but one in seven billion: a  single, cast off soul, adrift in the vastness of an endless human ocean.
Screaming – but no one is listening.
Foundering – but there is no one to pull me out.

But tomorrow is another day.
Who knows? I may be somebody then.
Or just somebody else.
Another day.
Another dose of what will inevitably kill me.

Tick.
Tock.