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 SN 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 SN 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.
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