He felt confined and suffocated, not just by his current predicaments,

but by existence in general. Afterall survival was little more than a

myriad, constant struggle to not get screwed. He failed to see the point
of it all, but couldnt find an alternative. As a result he felt condemned
to suffer as a prisoner of life.
One day, it finally occurred to him that his prison had no bars.
With that came an ocean of fear and guilt, threatening to consume him.
Survival wasnt obligatory, just that it was hardcoded into our brain and
reinforced by social conditioning. Maybe it was perfectly fine to choose
not to live. Would it be the cowardly way out? Was there a difference
between loosing the will to live and using death as an escape from
ones inadequacies? He was not a quitter, of that he was sure, almost.
Still, with every passing day he found it harder to persevere and even
harder to accept the diabolical alternative that ravaged his fantasies.
And then in an agonizing moment of complete surrender; he conceded.
Regardless of everything, everybody, he really, surely, wanted to die.
When? Well...Not yet, there was plenty of time.
And thus it came to pass that Atlas was permitted the opinion that he
was at liberty, if he wished, to drop the Earth and creep away; but this
opinion was all that he was permitted