I lost my special place, my refuge. On Thursday night the police busted into my garage to stop me from wiping myself off the planet I was so grief-stricken. The garage door is broken, like everything seems to be, and I spent four nights in hospital. I am home now and have to face reality again. I fight the urge to do it all again.

It was when I was in high school that I first started feeling death would be better than living my life. At lunchtime I stared at the train tracks on the other side of the fence and fantasied about jumping in front of a train. I became a workaholic to block all these painful feelings. I thought life would be better after I graduated. But it all caught up on me. I was dux, I could have pursued any career I wanted but instead I am unemployed, on the disability pension and revolving through hospitals. Why did I bother working so hard and putting myself through so much stress? Sometimes I wish I had of killed myself back then. It would have saved a lot of suffering.