It’s been almost three months since I almost suceeded killing myself. I had everything planned, right down to the bottom line. I had called to say goodbye to my mother and grandparents. They had no clue what was actually going on. They figured I was just saying goodnight like I do everynight. I was going to take the entire bottle of serious pain killers I had. I still had a small bit of doubt and I tried to cling to it. The pain became too real for me. And it grew steadily worse. I started cleaning my room up. Organizing everything. In my own sick way I was ensuring my family would be able to find everything easily after I succeeded. My father came home around nine at night and turned the latest sports game on. I opened my closet to start organizing when I came across my fathers guns. I grabbed one of the riffles and leaned it up against the wall. I examined it, but there were no bullets. I know now that my father has all the bullets locked up and they’ve been that way for years. However in a twisted turn of events I found one single bullet. One. The same bullet that would load the gun I had found. I believe it was a 22 caliber riffle. Strong enough to kill a deer from twenty feet away if not further. I knew then that I was loosing my fight to depression and that it was seriously taking a dangerous turn. I sat on my bed and called a sucide hotline. I wanted help. They wanted me to go the hospital but I couldn’t have that. I hung up on them and they continued to call back. I called one of my closest friends. A best friend, the one person who could actually stop what was about the play out. I loaded the gun. I leaned it against my chest. I positioned my biggest toe on the trigger. My friend talked to me for what seemed like hours, however only minutes had passed. He told that there was so much more for me to do in my life. Then he made the mistake by telling me that I was acting stupid. Instantly I started crying. I started to count down from 3, well he was on the phone. 3. 2. 1. I never expected myself to actually go through with it. But when I ran out of numbers I lifted my leg up and slammed down. I don’t really remember much from there. I remember there being a lot of blood. I remember feeling the gun kick me. I was sent backwards. The phone went flying. And then I don’t remember much more. I remember hearing my father scream, “Don’t Let my Son Die.” He repeated those words over and over and over again. I can still hear him screaming. As I drifted in and out of the blackness. The police came. The ambulances came. But like I said I don’t remember much. I do remember somewheres near twenty doctors all working on me. And then the pain meds came and then I went into that haze. From what I’ve been able to find out is that when the gun went off, it entered my chest. However amazingly it didn’t break a bone or damage a single organ. The most damage caused was to my non essential tissue and blood loss. There is no explanation. It’s a mystery why I didn’t succeed. I admitted myself into the mental hospital after this. I stayed for a week. It’s only been a couple of months. I’ll have massive post traumatic stress for the next few years if not longer.. I can still hear the gun going off. A sound unlike anything in this world. I also have shrapnel through my chest cavity. But most importantly I walked with a new appreciation for life. I know that I have a purpose. Because there was no reason why I shouldn’t have survived that. But I did and that’s what’s important.