Knowing that throwing in the towel means everything you’ve ever gotten through before that point, all the blood, sweat, tears, sleepless nights, or agonizing days, all that was for nothing if you give up now.
That I haven’t published anything yet. The only time I thought it wouldn’t matter if I died* was when I deleted everything I had ever written or designed. Then I remembered I had most of it on another disk and I was better. (Perhaps ironically, I doubt I’ll ever finish those stories. But that’s not the point.)
I’ve never been suicidal. I’ve had plenty of times when I thought it wouldn’t matter if I’d never been born.
All I have to do is think about the pain it would cause my husband. I went through a period of suicidal ideation earlier this year and when I finally came out of my funk I was horrified to see what the prospect of losing me had done to him. He loves me. It is my duty to protect him and keep him safe. I can’t leave him.
Because tomorrow might be the best day of my life.
Because anyone anywhere could be dead in five minutes if that’s what they wanted to do. What’s so great about it?
Because, as Harvey Fierstein put it “The great thing about suicide is that it’s not one of those things you have to do right now or you lose your chance forever. I mean, you can always do it tomorrow.”
I have only felt the way the OP describes in the first sentence once in my life. It was long ago and I really don’t want to recall the memory.
If I were to feel that way now - it would be everything in my life and all that it represents that keeps me going.