I poorly try to describe how I think: there's a person, full of life or at least having hope for the future, doing her daily chors, thinking "hmm, that stain on the roof does look like Aunt Silvia, oh darn, that bitch is coming for dinner, thank god I'm going to get my breast implants and then let's see who's laughing BOOMB, she gets hit by an arrow or something. And then her stupid or brilliant ideas exist no more. She's been wiped out forever. Nothing's left from her. Her pathetic little life is over. And in a thousand years she and almost everyone she knew will be totally forgotten. The feeling that's left from this is "what's the point, my thoughts have no value at all, I should finish myself before I make myself more pathetic." And yet I realize this is caused by an "illness" or whatever, but realizing it doesn't keep the thoughts coming.