The final escape, denied.
Let’s talk about euthanasia—aka the escape button from this cosmic clown show.
But no, you’re not supposed to talk about that. Because in a world where people defend their right to bring more sentient beings into existence without consent, daring to suggest someone should have the right to exit with consent is somehow... scandalous?
Society treats death like Voldemort: "He Who Must Not Be Mentioned"—unless it's on Netflix with soft lighting and background piano. But the moment someone says "Hey, maybe we should let terminally ill, mentally tormented, or existentially done people choose to peace out on their own terms," the room goes silent like you farted at a funeral.
Why? Because we’ve romanticized suffering.
Your pain is sacred. Your depression is character-building. Your agony makes you human.
No. It just makes you miserable—and everyone else uncomfortable.
We protect life at all costs, even when it’s reduced to a bedpan, a feeding tube, and 24/7 reruns of your worst memories.
We hook the dying up to machines and call it "hope."
We call the suicidal selfish—but the people forcing them to live in torment? Heroes.
Make it make sense.
Let’s be real: If your pet was living in the same pain most humans die in, you’d call the vet.
But grandma?
"Let’s keep her around a few more months so she can forget our names in higher definition."
And if you’re mentally suffering?
Well then you're not really in pain, right? You just need a hobby. Or maybe yoga. Or Jesus.
Spoiler:
Sometimes, the most compassionate thing you can do is let someone go.
And sometimes, the most rational choice is to leave.
Euthanasia isn’t about giving up. It’s about opting out of a rigged game.
A game you never asked to play, filled with arbitrary rules, constant ads, and an ending nobody wants to spoil—but everyone gets.
You don’t have to agree.
But at least grow the spine to admit that if freedom means anything, it means choosing when the credits roll.
Because keeping someone alive against their will isn’t compassion.