Ira Beatte's defense of suicide

"a broken body, a broken heart, a mind that won't mend, and all this talk from would be helping hands. and they are just that, or rather an idea incomplete (like a fountain i gave what was encouraged and then nothing). your cleft palit (sic), and your spotted brow. your broken fingers and your monstrous appetite. i am an angry man and we are waiting for you to leave. like a great heaving sigh that will push just beyond that cosmic line. do not fear what you cannot know. i'll make sure they shave your body and pull your face into an appropriate shape with sticks and twine. you'll have your papers, but they are gathering faggots"

And she did die. I wish I had known her.