No one would have had any idea if indeed I'd gone through with it. No notes, no cryptic hidden messages. Nothing. Just a body.
I'd run out of reasons to live. Or more precisely, run out of reasons not to kill myself.
I had a girlfriend, house and car and a decent job.
Internally, the pressure was just too much. I was very good at hiding it, any outbursts could be attributed to pressure at work or whatever but the conflict and anxiety created by there being something so fundamentally wrong with my very existence was taking too much energy than I could muster.
I was a shell of a human being. My relationship with my partner had dissolved into two people existing together. I felt helpless, completely and utter without hope that I could ever resolve the internal conflict. In short, I convinced myself that the world and those around me would be better off if I weren't around, so I sat down one evening and had a serious think about things and I decided there and then that the next evening I would kill myself.
I had everything ready to go the next evening, and I was just about to do it, literally 30 seconds away from it - I was actually quite looking forward to not hearing the constant buzzing, static in my head, not being disappointed I'd not gone to sleep forever or feeling guilty whenever I saw my girlfriend crying to herself quietly in the kitchen because of what I'd made the relationship become - then she phoned me to say she'd left her work keys at home and was coming back for them.
I didn't do it, when she came back I was curled up in a ball in the middle of the landing sobbing hysterically. I started blurting it all out and that sealed the start of the real end of our relationship.
She wouldn't have known a thing, and neither would anyone else if she wouldn't have left her keys at home that evening.
I just couldn't think of one single reason to not kill myself and that encompassed everything. I had to find something to appease my mind, and shutting it up for good was the only surefire way of doing it.