I look down at the gun in my hand, and although it's not a mirror I see a reflection of what I've become.
Why am I sitting here wanting to end my life?
How did I get here?
Why did I let the cruel people in this world push me into the predicament I'm in right now?
I stand up and look in the actual mirror.
''You're okay.'' I say.
I know in my mind that I'm not actually okay, but to hear someone say that I am even if it is myself saying it, it makes me see a glimpse of hope.
The hope that I didn't have 3 minutes earlier when I was holding the gun in my hand.