I spent the next two weeks locked in my room. My depression had reached a new peak and I did nothing to try and stop it. I’d wake up long enough to do more drugs and then I’d be back out. I kept wondering why I was here. What was my purpose? I could never give myself an answer. That was when I knew what needed to be done.
I knew I was selfish. That I was throwing my life away but at that moment, I really didn’t care. I was a shell with nothing but blackness within. My grandmother tried to reach out to me. She’d even had our neighbor, Clint, threaten to break down my door if I didn’t come out.
None of it worked.