A few days ago, very depressed, I went for a walk in search of a bridge. I’m in a new city and do not know where anything is. I traveled down a deadend road and wouldn’t you know it, I find train tracks. Not only that, I see a train coming. This was it. Here was my chance. To finally end it all after nearly twelve years of suffering with severe depression and suicidal thoughts and attempts. I waited on the train tracks as the train neared. But as I waited, all I could think about was the fact that I have terrible luck and I’d probably botch this attempt. What if the train ran over my legs, cut them off and I survived? In the end, I couldn’t do it. I stepped off the tracks and watched the train go by, sobbing. I’m so angry at myself. I try to remind myself that I could have made my situation worse by getting my legs chopped off, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. The depression and misery doesn’t fade. Now I’m just as lost and depressed as ever. I failed.