A couple nights ago I stood in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red and swollen; I’d been crying for a while. I had the bottle of pills in my hand. I was planning on drinking the dozen or so beers I had in the fridge as well, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Probably more out of fear than self-preservation or a desire to live. And it wasn’t even a fear of dying; it was a fear of living. I didn’t want to make an attempt and have to live through it. I couldn’t stand the idea of another […]
