I'd hated my life.

I'd hated it for quite some time.

The reasons and causes too many and too personal to divulge. Hope you understand.

Countless times I wondered whether endless feelings of self-loathing and constant reminders of my inadequacies was all that life had in store for me. My conclusion? Perhaps not. Perhaps there was something I could do about it.

Three weeks before my 25th birthday, I quit my job. During the subsequent weeks, I re-read my favorite novels, re-watched my favorite movies and spent considerable time re-experiencing video games from my childhood.

But most importantly during this time, I sorted out my finances. I put the little I had in savings under a single account and named my aging mother as the sole beneficiary.

One day before my 25th birthday, I sat down and wrote four long letters. Each addressed to my younger brother, mother, only friend and an old crush.

Ten minutes before my 25th birthday, I sent three of the letters via email. And left one last on my desk in an envelope, the words "For Mother" written on it.

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Then, I made my way to the elevator in the wheelchair. It was a short ride to the top floor, and as I got out was greeted by the city spread out before me. I took out my phone, 11:59 PM. Intently observed the screen as the clock hit 12:00 AM.

"Happy birthday to me." I said out aloud.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The wind picked up, and I could feel it against my face. Tears formed in my eyes, and I thought about my life, about the few good moments I had. I wished I could live them again, but I knew it was not possible. I was ready for the end.

With eyes closed, I'd slowly gotten up from the wheelchair, hunching forwards. And then I'd fell. The wind now gushed around my face, my hair flowing against it.

Looking back on it now, it's strange how in those final moments, my heart was racing and my palms were sweaty, yet I also felt an exhilarating sense of being truly present in the moment. It's as if my impending death had finally awakened me to the world around me, and I was filled with a strange mix of terror and wonder.

Was it a sad thing that it was only in that final scene, just before my demise, that I truly felt alive?