since i can remember, there has always been one thing that calmed me: knowing the exact day i would end my life. the date never stayed the same. every time i survived, i chose another. every time i came face to face with death, the same sentence kept me alive: “not yet.” it became a ritual. a way of believing i was in control. i counted the days i remained alive. i searched for meaning in repeating numbers. i believed certainty could protect me. i believed that as long as i knew the end, i could survive everything before it. for years, i thought i was postponing my death. i never realized i was feeding it. then, on april 14th, 2025, the 11,414th day of my life, i chose another date. only later did i understand that i hadn't chosen another ending. i had chosen the last day i would ever need one. now, every morning, i ask myself the same question: “is tomorrow worth living for?” every evening, i answer it. it is still a ritual. it is still repetition. it is still a loop. the difference is that this one asks me to stay. i no longer search for meaning in predetermined dates or repeating numbers. i choose to make every day i remain alive a day i have won. the snake is still here. and i continue.