September 1993
Close to the Edge
My life hadn't become unmanageable, it had become crazy. . . . That was my moment of clarity.
It was a clear fall day in September 1982. The leaves in the park behind my home had turned gold and crimson, but their beauty eluded me. I sat on the edge of my bed holding two silver-plated .357 Magnums, fully loaded, hammers cocked, one in my mouth and one pointed at my temple. They promised the escape I could no longer find in alcohol. Alcohol, my best friend, had deserted me and I couldn't imagine living any longer.
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