there aren't many things you think of.
first it's, am i really going to do this? am i really going to die? and you ask yourself that question. it's the same question you may find yourself trying to answer in bed, before you fall asleep, or on the rooftop, feet away from the edge. either in comfort or in distress, questions always pick at you.
who's going to miss you?
("don't go, i really like you.")
who's going to even care?
("goddammit, stop getting into trouble! i get so worried, don't you know - ")
no one will notice if you disappeared.
("sis! come here and play with me, i've been waiting for hours!")
and those who love you eventually leave. you turn around the pills in your hand and really, at the moment, you don't exactly feel anything. no remorse or consequence, no guilt or apprehension. there's no fear either. for a while, you've been only an empty shell, a husk of what was once a person. so it's okay. there's always a time when people leave, and it's time for you to leave too.
so you swallow, and lie down to go to sleep. this time, you know you won't wake up.