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It all started with 7 little white envelopes. And a girl. Always a girl involved. On each envelope, written in my terribly illegible handwriting with a red marker, 7 names.

You see, I got the whole idea when my friend died. I saw his family and friends, and even strangers. I didn’t want to leave with uncertainty floating in people’s minds, didn’t want everyone asking why. Strangely, I felt a need to explain. A cry for attention? No. More of a courtesy, I’d like to think.

Pain. For me, it was all about too much pain. I didn’t chose this, it happened as involuntarily as the sun rising. I simply didn’t have the resources for coping with the pain. I never saw myself as flawed, weak or crazy. It had nothing to do with willpower, or choice, even. Of course I would choose to cheer myself up, if I could. I didn’t see suicide as moral or immoral, it simply was. I had no resources for coping with the pain, and this thought was the result.

The pain I felt was unbearable. Unbearable to me! Not to anyone else maybe, but that didn’t matter. I’m sure some people see my reasons as, “not enough.” Well, for me, they were plenty. As it was, I only saw three options. I could find a way to reduce my pain. I could increase the tolerance I had for pain. Suicide. I’d been trying two of them for years, in the form of friends, family, drugs, alcohol, pills, therapists. Nothing worked.

It was high time I gave the third option a “stab.”