Resignation
There are times that I reached out to people with depression, hoping that I can help them somehow, for they are supposedly in the situation I used to be in, and by doing that, hoping to find peace for myself. But I cannot do anything but accept with grace, or with futility, that our suffering is so personalized that it is almost incomprehensible to anyone else but ourselves.
There are times that I think therapy is but a pseudoscience. Depression and getting rid of it is a business of make it or break it. Sentimentalities are useless. Sympathy is provincial, a topical treatment for superficial wounds. One may conclude: There is no true sympathy. If cloning ourselves were possible, your clone may have the sympathy that you can assert that “it’s true”. May we never understand each other, for we are not clones.
No one will understand anyone, such is your resignation.

Renunciation to suicide
To commit suicide is to make a statement, to make one’s existence specific, to make the end of it a special event. To deny yourself of suicide is to deny yourself of any last theatrics. Should we debase ourselves any further by resorting to something melodramatic like suicide notes? How tiring it would be to explain your rationale for taking your own life, and how useful that would be, other than to confirm that it is not a homicide?
Isn’t “dying of natural causes" is a higher form of self negation? Shouldn’t I just expire like almost anyone else, like an end-of-life product discarded in the mass grave of e-waste ready to be exported to some third-world hellholes? Such is the vacuity of seeking death, for death is hollow itself, a hollow negation of what never be.
And that we, as a last consolation, can find peace in oblivion, in the thought that "Time will take care of us all."