I've contemplated suicide before. Let me tell you, a suicide "note" is so ******* pedestrian that you should kill yourself just for considering writing one.
If I killed myself, I wouldn't write a suicide note. I'd pen an entire, lengthy misdirection aimed at convincing the reader that not only wasn't I going to kill myself, I had gotten in deep with South American drug cartels, and had discovered a vein of pure gold in Argentina. I'd write a note not to explain my own suicide, but to give hope to my family, to make them think that I was running away with a female coyote smuggler from Chile, that I was going to go live a life of adventure and splendor in Africa stealing blood diamonds from warlords.
Then I'd go out to the woods, dig a hole, prop up the dirt over myself with a stick, and then kill myself by setting off a pipe bomb under my chin, collapsing the soil onto myself to ensure that I am never found. Everyone close to me would think that I had actually lived some insane double life, and had finally fled out of their lives into a fantasy realm of adventure and danger. They would spend the rest of their lives talking about me in hushed whispers, "That guy, he really went and did it, do you think he's okay?" And every so often, they would look over their shoulders, wondering if I might be watching them from a street corner, or sipping coffee at the cafe we always used to frequent.
That's what I'd want. I'd want to be remembered as the man who did what we all want to do secretly, and got away with it. In reality I'd be a mouldering corpse in the mountains, but reality doesn't matter. What matters is what people believe. I'd want to do that for my friends and family, not just write them an explanation for why I turned myself into dirt 40 years early because my girlfriend dumped me.
Suicide notes. ******* pleb. Write an adventure story.