I keep things to myself. Telling others your deepest thoughts is just asking for trouble. Here’s how I think about it. The minute I tell someone I’m thinking about dying, people begin calling “foul. This man wants to die. He’s suicidal call the cops.” The fact is I was actually thinking about dying, the act and pain of the act. I question “What is next after dying? Do I face a haloed choir with Pat Boone wearing his white buck shoes and a pink carnation?” Hence, I say nothing to no one. I cover myself with cynicism. It is my comforter and my safe place.