If I hate (my)life and don't care if I die does that make me emo?

Well, wait a minute.

What if you were given the opportunity to die doing something really awesome. Like, for example, you die in a car wreck because you lost control on the autobahn at 180+ mph-- you lost control because you were too busy getting road head from some swedish supermodel while snorting coke off her ass-crack-- and you were driving like an SLR McLaren or a Ferrari F430. In other words, you didn't really commit suicide, but you liquidated all of your earthly assets to go on some really fucking wild binge. I could see myself doing something like that if I thought I had nothing else left for me. I would do all of the things that are otherwise considered dangerous, felonious or just things I really wanted to do. Like, maybe blow my wad on a nice hotel room in vegas, hire all the high priced prostitutes I could fit on a california king and snort the rest up my nose-- fear and loathing style, overdose like a rockstar.

There are plenty of ways you can get around the whole self-preservation instinct, drugs and various other physical stimuli can trick your mind into thinking its survival is not at stake.

Jam it back in, in the dark.