Yeah, but there's that, like. I always want to die, sure, but there's this moment when it changes from being an abstract thing to an actual option. Right now it's an abstract thing and I could probably hold a knife no problems.

[He doesn't mean to, but he instinctively turns his hands so the insides of his wrists aren't visible. Out of sight, out of mind.]

. . . But there was a period of time where I wasn't even allowed to use butter knives. If I wanted butter on my toast, someone else had to do it for me.