Every kid in high school wishes to gain social acceptance, and wants to be liked. The pressures of life are at there most and there is no way to cope with them. I myself have lived this cruel hell. Wishing to gain the respect of others and doing anything I could to get it. But no matter what I did, what music I said I liked, what kids I hung around or what kids I shamefully was mean to. I was still at the end of the day, sitting on the edge of my bed, in true misery. Ashamed of what I saw when I looked in the mirror. One day realized, I had no friends, there was no one I could call on the phone and tell my problems to. No one who understood me, the real me. Sure there were kids who thought I was cool because there was always the latest mxpx album in my CD player. Or the kids who worshiped me for calling that girl a bitch in the hall every time I saw her. I never stepped back, and thought about that girl. Why she was mean to everyone, why she was the way she was. But now it all makes sense, she was just like me. Just as superficial just as cruel, just as lost. And I made her life that much worse. The pain I felt inside everyday of my life, i thought was so much worse then everyone else's. There was the kid with the really hot girl friend who everyone envied, whose parents died in a car crash two weeks ago, or the star point guard on the basketball team, who spent two weeks in jail for robbing the grocery store just so he could feed his family. My pain was nothing compared to there's. but in my mind I was worse off then everyone. I always figured if when day I just disapered, that no one would ever notice. No one would miss me when I was gone. The world might even be a better place if I wasn’t here to burden every one, take up space, and use up air. This all became too much; I was tired of being ridiculed by everyone, done with the frustrations, done with worrying. I had given up on life. Id thrown my towel in, I didn’t care any more I was going to let my problems slide off, land on some else's plate. I had a note all written out. I told my family that I loved them, that none of this was there fault and I hoped that they would understand and forgive me. I signed the tear stained piece of paper, “with my deepest love and deepest regrets, I have gone to another place, please forgive me, I love you... Jase” it was all planned out. The family would all be out at my sister’s ballet recital. I couldn’t stand the thought of my mother running upstairs to see what the noise was and to find me dead. In my dads closet was a colt 45 handgun, box of rounds in a green box beside it. My dad always wanted to be a cop, he never told anyone it was there, but I knew. I found it one year when I was looking for my Christmas presents. I went in to my room, loaded the gun set the note on the table beside me. I had never been religious in all my life, my family never went to church. but for the very first time in my life, I prayed. I prayed that god and my family should forgive me. And that he may be angry with me, but to still protects and love my family. As I said this to my self, tears pouring from my eyes and running down my cheeks, I slowly brought the gun from my side, I pulled back the hammer, and brought it to my head. I took in a deep breath, exhaled all my worries, my sadness and despair, my hate for life, and I pulled the trigger.

The round in in witch I had inserted into that gun did not ignite. The gun did not fire, and as I had asked god, he did forgive me, he did protect me. He gave me back my life. I laid on my floor in tears crying for hours. So sorry for the way I had felt. And it never dawned on me till just then as I sat on the floor looking at the gun I had just tried to take my life with. Nothing is ever that bad. What would my family have done? My 8 year old sister would come home, run up the stairs to my room to tell me how she loved me and how good she did at her recital. To find me dead on me bedroom floor in a pool of my own blood. This image would never leave that child's head. Or my father to come home to find me dead on the floor with his gun in my hand, the gun he never should have bought, the one mom had been telling him to get rid of for years, the very gun he was to give to me, when I became a man. What was I thinking? Why in the hell would I do this to my family? What caused me to be so distorted to think that by taking my life, that every thing would be ok? I was going to ruin the lives of all my family and friends, no one ever truly recovers from having someone they love die, especially by there own hand. I to this day am ashamed of my self, I will never forgive my self. Every time I think of how horrible my life is, no matter how much I loose control, the picture in my head, with that pistol to my head, and me actually pulling the trigger reminds me. It’s not that bad. I once had some one tell me, ‘everything is ok, and it will all work out“. And they were right, as long as I am alive and on this earth with people who love me, everything is going to be