I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth

and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame the earth seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy the air, look you, this mighty o'rehanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire; why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a God! The beauty of the world, paragon of animals; and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dusk. Man delights not me, no, nor women neither, nor women neither.

The great thing about wanting to kill myself is that I want to do it all the time.

I've actually started making arrangements. Passing on work to other people because I'm "booked up"

One day I'm gonna do it lads. One day I'll finally fucking kill myself.