I began writing suicide notes decades ago in my twenties because I’m not the type of person who likes waiting until the last minute. At the time, I was alternating between sadness, depression, and suicidal ideation, still not committed to ending it all, but wanting to be prepared when that inevitable moment arrived. The thought of a positive turnaround never crossed my mind. I certainly couldn’t imagine bubbling over with happiness or lust for life. That was not my style. Nor did it occur to me to follow in the footsteps of that selfish or illiterate cadre of losers who depart without explanation.