The truth is you’re alone; you’re up there standing all alone. There’s no one there with you, no one to hold your hand. There is no comforting companion, it’s just you on that ledge, you and everything that brought you there: your regrets, your wrongdoings, your hopes and dreams, everything you’d hoped your life would be, the picture of who you dreamed of being, the disappointments of everyday life, the let-downs from everyone around you, “you wouldn’t be there to help me,” “you’re selfish,” “you’re a disappointment,” “you can’t do anything,” “you don’t care at all,” “you’re so full of yourself.” It’s all right there with you. A thousand voices, screaming at you over the noise of all the times you’ve ever thought about killing yourself and how you smiled beneath the tears just feeling so happy about the thought of dying and all the voices stopping and the silence and the nothingness, just the nothingness, complete darkness, an end once and for all. You’re standing there alone, as broken as you’ve ever been, in equal parts sad and angry, shouting at the sky and covering your ears. Death can come no sooner. Sweet death.