Although I thought, and wrote, multiple times about suicide, I never actually attempted it. However, I did attempt to attempt it once.
I'm not sure the exact date, but it was prior to the wedding of my uncle's daughter, because she was temporarily living at home. She wed in June, 1971, so I was 13 years old -- 14 at most. What precipitated the attempt is lost to me now, as is why this one night was so much worse than any that preceded it.
What I do know is that on that one night, I was lying in bed and crying so hard that I was unable to sleep. I was tired of crying ... tired of being miserable ... tired of everything. I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. Years later, my uncle's daughter would tell me that she always knew where her mother's pills were kept, in case she ever decided to make an attempt herself, but I wasn't that savvy. All I knew was that in the bathroom, I'd find the key that would let me escape my unhappiness.
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| The key |
