Relief and hope are the ultimate sources of pain, seeing as they seldom deliver the change and progress they promise to the weak and helpless. All that they serve to do is exacerbate the strained desperation and struggle of the dying animal, only for all his efforts to collapse once more, and all the world around to laugh at his agonized cries as he is reminded, more intimately than ever, that the last cry of his soul and strongest exertions of his mind are but the diarrhea of a retarded baby and that he deserves to feel all the more ashamed than before for waging his last dying autistic strike and making an even bigger retarded cunt of himself.
There is no greater torture to a living organism than uncertainty, the chance that one may have his mind adjusted to one future only for another to materialize. It is better to resolve to a guaranteed future of suffering one could try to avoid, than get oneself invested in the chance of making something better when everything's really up to random chance and all your efforts might be rendered inconsequential anyway.
That is why I would be happier in death. Because while I can foresee aspects of the joke and futility of a future I will have and the disgrace to all living things such a tale told by an idiot would be were it realized, I can see no shadow of a feasible path towards defraying this future. And so I will go on on the predetermined path to greater dishonor and futile struggle under the illusion imposed by myself and others that my personal choices will make a difference, and suffer immensely for it unless it all ends quickly before that has to happen. That is why I wish for death. Because I have been enlightened to the futility of the individual human will in the 21st century world, and I wouldn't stand to return to my old delusions again.