But I just ... didn't like my life. I was depressed, I couldn't stand my job, my writing career was progressing in fits and spurts and I was too immature to know that this was normal, my social life wasn't what I wanted it to be, my dating life even less so, my rhymes weren't fresh anymore, I was living in a basement where my "home office" was also my cramped, poorly lit bedroom, in the winter the Sun joined the likes of Sugar Ray and Crazy Bones as something I vaguely remembered existing once long ago, no one was calling me "Tango" even though I insisted I wanted it as a nickname, and I drank and ate shitty food to deal with all of it.
I was also sick of people judging me based on my looks.
You may recognize this as an assortment of problems that pretty much everyone deals with to one degree or another. No one sets out to make themselves unhappy. No one takes a job or starts a relationship that they know will make their life worse. But sometimes things don't turn out as planned, and if enough problems stack up, you start drowning. The water rises so slowly that you don't even notice until it's over your head. And it's not that you can't reach for a life raft -- one's always there in front of you, in the form of talking to someone or making a plan to improve things. You just don't see the point. The life raft will take years to get to shore, and it will be a tedious journey. Why not just let yourself drown? Why not just let that car hit you?
At a certain point, you feel like you've been bitten by the zombie, and you want to eat that bullet before the situation gets any worse. Before you infect your friends with your stress or anxiety, or just whatever it is that you've convinced yourself makes you fundamentally incapable of being a functional human being in the way everyone around you seems to be. Have you ever seen someone react to a suicide by saying "How could they hurt the people who love them like that?" You don't think of it as hurting them. You think of it as helping them avoid the infection.