It's difficult for the non-terminally (I choose my words carefully) depressed to understand, but even in the happiest moments, there's a base note, a whiff of: it'd be so much easier not to. Now, I don't - to be alive is to have responsibilities to others - but that's not to say that I enjoy, more than the thought of rest, fulfilling obligations.
I was never a joyful child - my first training-wheel effort at dying was at 11 or thereabouts - but I do understand that now I'm here I have to see it through. Of course, New Age Guru mother says that people who wish for death get cancer and that if you top yourself you only have to come back and do it all again and until my 20s that did rather keep my feet on the ground - the fear of having to live the years I'd already done.
Husband begged me to push him under a train. I think, more or less, we understand each other. Sometimes I am just like Crooked Finger (possibly my most favourite film ever):