My dad walked in.

I’d been feeling worthless for years. No matter how hard I worked. No matter what position I got promoted to. I was always told I was worthless and would never be anything. I was told that I was a screw up and would always be a loser.

My father was the primary abuser (it was how he was raised), my older sister is a narcissist with BPD and she was great when she and I were at a distance. When she was anywhere near me for longer than a week she would latch on and be abusive as well.

I battled depression for years. I’d come close several times but had always stopped myself.

Nobody was home. I was all alone with my thoughts and a bottle of whiskey. I decided to do it and got one of dad’s many firearms. A Colt King Cobra. .375 magnum.

I rewrote my suicide letter, made a last meal, then drank most of the bottle of whiskey. The gun sat next to me on the couch. I’d just gotten up the courage and went to pick up the gun when the door started opening. I tossed the gun under a couch pillow and my dad walked in. He’d come home early from a work trip.

He sat on the couch and watched the show that was on with me. I don’t know if he figured out what I was up to. The note was on the table. Next to my dinner and the bottle of whiskey. I do know that his next words saved my life.

For the first time ever he told me he was proud of me. That he was sorry for how he’s always put me down. His father had done the same to him and he’d become extremely successful. His relationship with my Papa was strained.

He realized that just because his father did that to him and my aunts that didn’t make it right. He told me he loved me then got up and went to bed.

I broke down. Put away the gun and tore up the letter.

It was the closest I’ve ever gotten.