i was just six yrs old. i was so depressed. i was being beaten on nearly a daily basis. i had been raped by a person in a position of trust and couldn't tell anyone. i had also been told i was adopted. i wasn't really a part of this family i was in, and wasn't allowed to discuss it. i was feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. i went walking into my parents room one day and sadness filling my soul. i was a nosy little shit and just pointlessly snooping around their room. i looked under their bed and found a gun. i stood up at that point and decided i wanted to die. i couldn't help but feel deep down inside that this was just how my life was going to be. i got back under the bed and pulled the gun out. i recall i had to assemble the butt to the gun and figured that out. it was a rifle or a shotgun i can't quite recall, but i knew it was too long to point at my head and get a shot off. so i tried pointing it to my chest and i realized i couldn't pull the trigger still so i got something and resolved that issue. then the hunt was on for the bullets. i went through everything in their room that day and never did find them. so with tears pouring down my face so sad that i had to continue on i put the gun away just as i had found it. no one ever was the wiser. to this day i still have to say i consider my solution wise. i have acted on it two times sinse then, considering the third now. sometimes i wish i had found those bullets that day, but then again what would it have been if i had.