It wasn't a cry for help. Or maybe it was. Looking back now I'm not really sure. On a stifling hot day in the summer of 1998 I tried to kill myself. The reasons why were all the usual: unhappy at work, my girlfriend was cheating on me. Nothing particularly noteworthy.
I left work for the day and drove home. On the way I stopped at a liquor store, where I purchased a fifth of Everclear and a 32oz bottle of Gatorade. Then I went to a pharmacy where I bought a package of over-the-counter sleeping pills. My plan Read more