The choice to die is always there and it's a choice you're not making. That's something to think about, right? That you can make the choice every minute of every day and you're not making it. So even though you *feel* like you don't want to live, and you say so - you must want to, because you're still living. So even though it's a strong feeling, the ambiguity must be pretty strong too. So think about that - you haven't done it. What could be the reasons for that? Because if you really really wanted to do it, you'd do it - and you're not doing it. You're thinking about it and writing to Cary about it but you're not doing it. Why is that - why are you still living and not choosing to end it now? What are those reasons for not acting on this stated desire to not live? You're letting these reasons stand in the way of doing the thing you think you really want to do above all things. So clearly, you don't want to do it as bad as you say you do. Maybe they are good reasons, small and stupid and hard to find as they are.

Clearly, some part of you - no matter how small - wants to live. That small part is obviously pretty powerful to be overriding the big conscious part of you that insits, I don't want to live.

This is a good thing. Hang onto it. You lose nothing by living another day, and then another. You can always change your mind. You have that power. But - you lose everything by pulling the plug. You lose all choice, all power to change your mind.

Keep thinking about that. Think about why you are not doing it. Just be present with the fact that you're not doing it. Maybe feel the sun on your face. Maybe enjoy the way your thoughts come bubbling up like air bubbles to the surface of a deep and silent lake. Take a couple of deep breaths - observe how your mind thinks, take deep breaths, and then your chest does it. Remember a time when you did not think about not living. Remember a time you were laughing hard, or maybe had a nice private smile. Isn't it nice that you can remember that, that you were here for that laugh or smile, and are still here to recall the moment?

Just think about it. Don't compare that time to now. Just remember how it felt, that there was a time you didn't feel this way, and chose to live. And now you feel this way - and you're still choosing to live.

That must mean something. It must count for something.

A fairly good friend of mine just recently died of lung cancer-she was in her 60's, and had been through the treatment for this before; no surprise really when she found out she was going to die. She fought it as best as she could, until she could not any longer.

At the end, she was very happy-as if the struggle for life was finally ebbing from her. As she told me, "I'm having a hell of a good time for someone who's dying!"

I know that the LW was depressed before the illness, and perhaps (and this is all pure conjecture) that might have played a small role in the disease's advancement-I think that if the LW were to see about being treated with anti-depressants while undergoing chemo it might make a difference in her attitude towards surviving.

Don't give up just yet. There are alot of people out there with the same disease, they have support groups and there must be a way for you to cope with this crisis without losing all your will.

Only when you can with certainty say you will not do better after the chemo should you do anything rash.

Cary is right, though. Death is a permanent answer to a temporary problem.

at least in part. We all will die. We hope to take our leave in a timely fashion, with dignity. This doesn't always happen. I am much more afraid of living too long--as my mother and my husband's father and stepmother are doing. If any of them could have seen themselves even ten years ago, they would have cried, Spare me! My mother's worst fear was "losing her marbles." In the space of four months they are mostly gone, a sudden descent (at 96) into dementia. She still knows there is something wrong with her. A blessing will come when she has deteriorated into not knowing, as my mother-in-law did about six years ago. Both of them, and my father-in-law (in poor health, demented, and paranoid) would be better off dead, released from suffering and confusion.

I have breast cancer; I had surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation in 2003. It wasn't easy, but present-day medical care made it bearable. I still have frequent visits with doctors and tests and treatments that remind me that I am always at risk. But so are we all.

I'm just objecting, I guess, to the cheerleaders who keep saying, Win, win! We all lose in the end. It is no sin to concede with dignity, to accept death and experience it as the last part of living.

at least in part. We all will die. We hope to take our leave in a timely fashion, with dignity. This doesn't always happen. I am much more afraid of living too long--as my mother and my husband's father and stepmother are doing. If any of them could have seen themselves even ten years ago, they would have cried, Spare me! My mother's worst fear was "losing her marbles." In the space of four months they are mostly gone, a sudden descent (at 96) into dementia. She still knows there is something wrong with her. A blessing will come when she has deteriorated into not knowing, as my mother-in-law did about six years ago. Both of them, and my father-in-law (in poor health, demented, and paranoid) would be better off dead, released from suffering and confusion.

I have breast cancer; I had surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation in 2003. It wasn't easy, but present-day medical care made it bearable. I still have frequent visits with doctors and tests and treatments that remind me that I am always at risk. But so are we all.

I'm just objecting, I guess, to the cheerleaders who keep saying, Win, win! We all lose in the end. It is no sin to concede with dignity, to accept death and experience it as the last part of living.