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I am so, so sick of this.  I am at the limits of medical intervention and I am at the limit of what I am able to do for myself.  I feel like everyone I love is slowly peeling themselves away from me, and with good reason.  I am the kind of toxic that fills lungs with sludge, a fungus that seeps through the walls and refuses to die.  I cannot bear this supreme loneliness.  I cannot stay confined to this body that is so useless and this mind that offers no escape.  All of the good things that were once within me have been worn away by the endless, constant drip of madness, and I am at the point of surrender.  I am told that fighting shows strength, but it seems to me it is now just willful ignorance; denial of what will inevitably come.  I would rather lie still and die quickly.  The Beast has won.  Let it do to me what it must; I welcome slaughter as a peaceful martyr, rather than a rebel with bloody fists.  I do not even ask for dignity.  Just bury me quickly once night falls, and spare the few who will mourn the sight of my broken bones.