I’ve thought about committing suicide for the past year of my life. I’ve thought about cutting my wrists but have decided that would be too bloody and painful. I’ve thought about jumping in front of a Semi, but then I couldn’t do it because of the compassion I felt for the poor sorry bastard driving the truck. I’ve thought about shooting myself, but the only guns in the house belong to my dad, and I sure as hell am not dying by embedding one of his bullets in my brain; he got me here in the first place, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he has succeeded in killing me […]
