Wait!
I got a new complaint.
I mulled over what it would be like to commit suicide. I thought about the reactions, and what I wouldn't want to give up, and landed on the realization that if it were to happen, I would never see what life would be like as the thousands somehow connected to me get on with their life after the depressed boy had thoughts intense enough to do something about it, and who would be upset and who wouldn't. I kind of compare it to the diary of a girl who was killed in a car crash whose profile said "How am I? Well, I'm alive, and I guess that counts for something." But she wasn't. She was killed. Her diary lay stagnant.
Would I be the sort to go out and try to kill myself?
I could be. In fact, it seems to fit in so well. Is there a mold for the suicidal? After all, it seems like a very rare sort who actually do kill themselves, but in a specific way.
All things told, the intense hyperactivity of the mind in the final moments that make one second seem like an eternity would all be bizarre fiction, and none of it would let me know reality.
Maybe I'm dead right now, and I don't know it. Maybe I passed seventeen years ago, and this is just the mind of some old one going into hyperactivity.