You walk into the bathroom, leaving your meal in the kitchen. The cat will enjoy it.
You go to the sink, opening the cabinet above it and taking the bottle of sleeping pills inside. There’s still probably twenty or thirty left. You contemplate leaving a note, because someone will eventually come looking for you, right?
You don’t know what you’d say, though. You doubt it matters that much anyway. You close the cabinet and fill a glass with water, taking a few pills at once until they’re all gone.
This is for the better.