The garage door opens at my approach, and I pull inside, let it close behind me. I wait a few seconds before I kill the engine. I always toy with it. Just sitting there with the engine running and the door closed until—nothing. They say that it’s a peaceful way to go, just like falling into a 11blissful sleep. My shrink calls this suicidal ideation, and it concerns her that it’s something I think about quite often—how, when, if. “Doesn’t everyone think about it?” I asked. I mean—we’re all going to die, right? It’s just a matter of time. So why not bow out on your own terms? “Of course people
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