The last few days I shared much about my boring yet chaotic and stressful life on this earth. I often wonder how I survived this long. Lord knows it’s not because I relish life.

When my father committed suicide, I was nine years old. I saw the pain on the faces of family members and swore then I would never inflict that kind of pain on others. I never blamed my father for his choice nor was I angry at him. I loved him. He was the best father. I only wished he hadn’t suffered in silence.

He had no history of mental illness or depression. As far as anyone knew he was a happy man with a generous heart. But happy people don’t kill themselves. He hung himself. I always wondered if he did it or did someone else do it?

Here I am at 58 years old, and I can see no happiness or inner peace in the future. No one is to blame. I am here because of my choices. I know myself, and I know I’ll never be happy in this world. What do I do?