Is it just me, or does anyone else notice that when you are seriously considering suicide all the little things in life seem like so much more? It's as if small pleasures like listening to your favorite song or traveling to new places are suddenly appreciated more. Out of the blue, I just start to miss those things. Maybe it's because I don't hate life, I simply hate living it as myself. I think life is an intriguing journey, a mystical place, but it can feel like exactly the opposite.