I cry quietly, when I’m alone. Solitude always brings pain to my soul. It reminds me of my cruel reality . . . I am dying.
I knew my wife was a good person had a great heart. I knew it was my fault things didn’t work out. I contributed greatly to change her personality. I extinguished her ebullient love for life with my many flaws. I know she was a better person before she met me and I know I was the only one to blame.
Once he was convinced how seriously I consider the possibility to commit suicide, he gave me a gun. That's what I call a good friend.