phantomisgone
Saving my world first before theirs.
- Oct 17, 2022
- 63
Hey everyone,
In five days, it'll mark three years since my suicide attempt (there's more about it in my post history).
A lot has changed since then. I graduated college, got a job, and started piecing together the kind of life I thought I wanted. But honestly, I'm still not where I want to be. I'm juggling debt, bills, and the quiet ache of wanting things I can't afford yet. I don't have many friends—or really, people I talk to often. Most days, I keep to myself. The isolation feels safe, but it can also feel like living in a glass box—seeing life move around me without really being part of it.
The one constant through all of this has been a friend from high school. He's stuck by me through everything, even when I hit rock bottom. We hang out a lot—movies, dinners, random long phone calls. He's a good guy. After leaving the military, he got really into guns and has tried for years to get me into the hobby. I never really understood it until he finally convinced me to go to a shooting range. It was… surprisingly fun. Focusing, aiming, feeling that small sense of control.
A few days ago, he surprised me with a gift—a Glock 45. He was genuinely excited, said he wanted me to have a way to protect myself and share something he loves. We went to the range, practiced, learned safety and form. It was a good day. But after sitting with it for a while… I don't feel safe having it.
It's under my dresser now. Waiting there. The same way that jar of N once waited for me years ago. Back then, having it nearby made me feel "safe," like I had control over my exit if I ever wanted it. And now, I feel like I've come full circle. Another "exit ticket" just sitting there—this time disguised as a gift.
And that's what scares me most. I could never do that to him. He's the one person who's been there for me. How could I use something he gave me—something meant to protect me—as the thing that ends me? I couldn't let him carry that kind of guilt.
But now it's just there, lingering. I can't bring myself to tell him I don't feel safe with it, because I don't want to worry him. I don't know what to do. I just… need some advice.
In five days, it'll mark three years since my suicide attempt (there's more about it in my post history).
A lot has changed since then. I graduated college, got a job, and started piecing together the kind of life I thought I wanted. But honestly, I'm still not where I want to be. I'm juggling debt, bills, and the quiet ache of wanting things I can't afford yet. I don't have many friends—or really, people I talk to often. Most days, I keep to myself. The isolation feels safe, but it can also feel like living in a glass box—seeing life move around me without really being part of it.
The one constant through all of this has been a friend from high school. He's stuck by me through everything, even when I hit rock bottom. We hang out a lot—movies, dinners, random long phone calls. He's a good guy. After leaving the military, he got really into guns and has tried for years to get me into the hobby. I never really understood it until he finally convinced me to go to a shooting range. It was… surprisingly fun. Focusing, aiming, feeling that small sense of control.
A few days ago, he surprised me with a gift—a Glock 45. He was genuinely excited, said he wanted me to have a way to protect myself and share something he loves. We went to the range, practiced, learned safety and form. It was a good day. But after sitting with it for a while… I don't feel safe having it.
It's under my dresser now. Waiting there. The same way that jar of N once waited for me years ago. Back then, having it nearby made me feel "safe," like I had control over my exit if I ever wanted it. And now, I feel like I've come full circle. Another "exit ticket" just sitting there—this time disguised as a gift.
And that's what scares me most. I could never do that to him. He's the one person who's been there for me. How could I use something he gave me—something meant to protect me—as the thing that ends me? I couldn't let him carry that kind of guilt.
But now it's just there, lingering. I can't bring myself to tell him I don't feel safe with it, because I don't want to worry him. I don't know what to do. I just… need some advice.