Last night, I left work at around 8:15 pm. After saying goodnight to my manager and co-workers, I stepped out into the cold, dark, wintery, city scene and was instantly reminded of how alone I felt. And while I walked towards my car parked in front of McGovern's, the dreaded tears of my pathetic existence began to well up sooner than I had expected. Then I decided that in an effort to avoid experiencing an emotional breakdown at home, it might be wise to take a brief detour; so I turned left on John Ireland Blvd. and then right on Selby. Eventually I found myself ordering a cookie and milk in Nina's while making shallow small talk with the barista and then sitting in a booth where I felt slightly less isolated, but incredibly distracted. After about 25 minutes of useless web-surfing, I stepped outside again and found an old man walking with his old labrador. I immediately walked up to him and asked if I could pet the dog after explaining to him that Tuffy had passed away about a month ago. He was sympathetic and told me that his dog was nearing the end of her life as well. For a brief moment while stroking the dog's fur, I remembered how comforted I was whenever I was in Tuffy's presence and all of the times he sat next to me faithfully while I cried in confusion on the bridge above 35E in East Saint Paul. Then I headed home, hoping that I might find comfort in my room - but all I found were overwhelming feelings of anxiety, frustration, and hopelessness. 

Its in experiences similar to the one I had last night, that I seriously consider choosing death; when I forget about all that I've been blessed with and can't seem to see past anything but the pain of the present. How selfish is it - that I would even think about taking my life when I am completely aware of the potential pain that I could inflict on the people in my life? The same kind of pain that I'm trying to desperately to escape from. Thankfully, this is the conclusion that I came to last night: I cannot give up on my life, for fear that I might hurt someone else in the process. So I put down the blade and called my boyfriend. He listened to me desperately beg for help and encouragement while I cried on the other end of the phone line and slowly but surely talked me out of making an awful mistake; and finally, after several hours, my body stopped generating tears and I fell into a daze. 

All I can think about now is - how long will it be until this happens again? And if it does happen again, will I have enough strength to say no to death? I'm not sure what to expect - but in the meantime, I'll continue to slowly roll up my sleeves and bear this burden in the light.