It will give those suffering from painful terminal and degenerative physical illnesses-those for whom “natural death has become reasonably foreseeable”-access to doctor-assisted suicide. I n April, Justin Trudeau’s government unveiled its new right-to-die legislation. They still don’t have the right to end their suffering with dignity they still don’t have the right to spare the people they love the shock of losing them, of knowing that they died alone in terrible pain. Because it’s 2016, and in Canada, the suicidally depressed still don’t have the right to die. No one should have to stumble upon the still-swinging rope or the brain matter on the wall, but, inevitably, someone does. I backed out in part because, had I failed, I would’ve had to return to work and tell my colleagues why I was sopping wet.) (Once, on my lunch hour, I walked down to a frigid Lake Ontario, there taking off my coat and shoes with the intention of taking a terminal swim. Most suicidal people are aware of the risks, aware that whatever attempt they make on their own life is statistically likely to fail and cause them greater pain and humiliation, to compound their sadness and anxiety and loneliness and make life even more wretched and grey. Just 1 percent of wrist-cutters are successful. Around 40 percent of subway jumpers survive, mangled into considerably worse shape than before. Guns can misfire, ropes can snap, drugs can induce vomiting and leave you with little more than a sore stomach and a fucked-up liver.

Setting aside the basic human impulse to survive, there are a great many practical complications that any attempt at suicide presents. The fact is, killing yourself is a fantastically tricky thing to do. You may understandably wonder why I’ve been unsuccessful in my pursuit of the void. I was diagnosed with depression, various forms of anxiety, and (very mild) obsessive-compulsive disorder at seventeen, and, despite nearly a decade of therapy and a dozen medications, have often thought of offing myself, to the extent that I’ve always simply assumed that, when I eventually went, that’s how I’d go (something that has made the classic job-interview question “Where do you see yourself in five years?” so tough to answer).

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