I found this document hidden away on my computer the other day. It had been written to a professor in graduate school who asked me to tell “the story of me”. This was only a few months after my divorce.
Here goes:
One month ago I stood on the fifth floor of a parking structure in San Jose and considered how easy it would be to just step forward into the air. It seemed so inviting, so perfect; an end to the pain and the suffering, a release from the pressure and the stress. Eventually I decided to turn back, to go downstairs and meet the person I was scheduled to have dinner with. I didn’t do it because I changed my mind, but because five stories seemed too low and I couldn’t live with the fear of living the rest of my life with the consequences of a failed attempt. [Read more...]







