From the January 2015 magazine.

The Man on the Bed

In a rehab one night, a desperate young man almost gives up—until he hears a knock on the door

I remember sitting in a rehab in Austin, Texas. I had come in there broken and beaten; the bottle had done a good number on me this time. I had lost my job, my family, my place and a lot of close friends. I was disorientated and lost, and I was not sure what I was going do with my life. I couldn’t seem to get over the self-pity. All I saw was an endless cycle of alcoholism. I just wanted to die. “Please Lord, kill me,” I remember praying. “Please end my suffering.” I was 22 and had never led a normal life. Just foster homes and poverty. I had lost both of my parents from alcoholism by the time I was 17.

So there I was, sitting on the end of my bed in this rehab. I grabbed my bed sheet, tied it up into a noose and slipped it over my head. I remember getting up and walking over and trying to hang myself in the closet. My vision started to go and I started to choke, so I stood up. I couldn’t do it. I was so full of self-pity. I thought, I can’t even kill myself! I sat back down and cried and prayed.

-- Anonymous

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