Share your story: #WhenIAlmostDied
Anna Sale


I didn’t want to be here.

I still don’t want to be here.

This is sacrilege. We are all supposed to want to be here. We are supposed to fight for our lives.


What makes you THINK my life is worth living.

It’s my life. I choose whether to exist or not exist. Not you.

I blew my guts out with a shotgun.

I could show you my scars, but you might vomit. I try not to look at them. Wearing a shirt helps.

Obviously, I am here to tell the story. It is just a story. It is not remarkable. I am just a man. A nobody. I am not remarkable.

I do not know what is WRONG with this culture that we are compelled to snatch the living from the jaws of death.

I do not fear death. I would welcome it.

There IS no god. Do not go there with me. You will not win that argument.

I loathe people. I loathe being physically touched. I loathe this existence.

Then, why don’t you just get it over with.

Because they keep bringing me back.

It’s called power.

I do surround myself with people. I do surround myself with being needed. I do surround myself with knowing people at a very intense level. I do surround myself with trying to do good.

I force myself to do it.

But I have a secret.

It’s not worth it.

Don’t talk to me about help and depression and all the little helper things people can do to help.

I don’t want help.

You cannot help (get over it). And you cannot know my pain.

I eat it. There is no peace to eating pain. None. I get up every morning like everyone else. I put my happy face on and I make it through the day.


Because I’m scared.

Suicide is more difficult than you think. They have lots of tricks in their little medical bag.

I look at all the happy, happy people out there — I gotta tell ya — it’s repulsive.

You cannot make me better because I don’t want to be what you consider better.

Meeting you would disgust me, but I would smile, shake your hand, and say: so glad to meet you.

It would be a lie.

I go through the motions.

The only thing in this life that brings me any hope whatsoever is the reality that someday, I won’t have to live it.

The juice ain’t worth the squeeze.

Drugs next time.


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