What this makes me think of is committing suicide. Most things may seem final, but there are possibilities for it being different. There’s no coming back from the dead.
Even when things are terrible, when Shame is telling me that I should do it, or even worse im just feeling so low that I have no desire to be here anymore, it’s the sense of finality that keeps me from following through. Or, I suppose, its that tiny tiny flicker of hope, that maybe, just maybe, it will change, I’ll feel different. And that’s just enough to hold on a while longer.