The lowest I’ve ever been was the year following my spinal cord injury. I was so depressed I had not one, but a half dozen suicide schemes. For most of that year, it wasn’t a question of “if” but “when.” And “how” of course. I would try to imagine how my life would play out, and suicide seemed the better option than any of the scenarios my ravaged psyche could muster.
|The morning after. No need for anything more graphic in this post.|