As a fellow expert in making myself miserable, I can concur that it is indeed incredibly hard to cure myself of it, at least as long as I'm holding on to "the shackles of the compulsion to go on living." But as nihilistic as the premise of this novel is, I find it a lot more meaningful than whatever false hopes people like to give to those with suicidal ideation: life may not get better, but there are still some nice things to do while you're here. And once you're dead, there really is nothing else to do than being dead. This was a beautiful story, and I'm so glad to have read it.