{June 25, 2015}

I don't know why this week, I started thinking of suicide when I haven't in a months;
but then maybe I do.

I remember today, realizing yesterday that I was trying to make myself perfect before I went and stepped into camp because of the past few, sad days I was feeling unwell and lost and not perfect;
and because of that I remember realizing that on Wednesday that I was trying to act like I have it all under control when I didn't, and that all my problems were solved when all my problems weren't solved yet.

And maybe that was what triggered it - I trying to make myself perfect, still recovering from the last few, rough days I had then, and then something snapped;
I almost had a plan of suicide.

A plan to jump off from somewhere high - a tall, unknown building where I could try to fly, even though I knew the chances were that I was flying to my death;
but I still wanted to try for some reason, when that thought just suddenly came on a Monday as I was at my grandmother's house and playing a game with my uncle -
still there as I came home at night, confused and tired.

I thought it was just a thought that just passed through me, for some unknown reason;
but what if the last few, rough days of being distracted and lost and tired and recovering from those days but still feeling a little bit lost and confused , really triggered that thought?

That thought of wanting to write a letter to the ones I love and telling them I love them but I'm sorry because I couldn't do it anymore, because I wasn't strong enough for the adventure of life;
and thinking these last thoughts in my heart and head,

"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, God."
"I love you."
"How can one so beautiful, hate himself so much?"

But then . . . 

"To live would be an awfully big adventure."

To live would be an awfully big adventure;
an awfully big, wonderful adventure for life is an adventure.

To live in God and with my God and the ones I love would be an adventure;
and is an adventure.