Quoted By:
Nine years ago next week will be the anniversary of the first time I endeavored in trying to kill myself. I wasn't trying to be edgy, or cool, I never warned anyone. I had just up and decided after much inner struggle that life wasn't worth living. I was 17 and skipped school that day, leaving early I stole one of my dad's revolvers and drove over 100 miles to the middle of a wilderness area. I even hiked some miles until I sat at the base of a formidable oak tree, sitting with the gun for a long time, taking in the sounds of the forest and thinking. The coat of snow over everything made it almost dream-like. I sat for hours contemplating that cold day, but obviously couldn't go through with the deed at hand, so I hiked back to the car, drove the 100 miles home. I put the pistol back in its spot, and no one's the wiser. I had skipped a day of school as far as anyone's concerned. I've never told that to anyone before.
In these nine years since, at 26, I still don't know what to do with my life. I've nothing to show for it and nothing to lose. I have no friends, no job, no hope and I know I'm nothing but a burden to my family anymore, so lately I've been thinking of taking a drive out to that forest spot one last time. It's such a tranquil place.
