- Mental Health
It was a cold night. I was lost in my misery and had just spent the last two days being beaten, trying to be convinced to do the work I had walked away from the year before (making bad stuff for biker clubs to sell). I was living on the streets under a overpass and had no will to live one moment longer. I walked to the railroad tracks and sat down, put a gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger. Something somewhere did not think it was time for me to die. I cried and walked the night to my one last friend’s family’s house; it was daytime when I got there. My friend was called, and I was taken to the VA in Loma Linda. My recovery started that day. It was Thanksgiving Day, Nov. 22, 1995. I am ever grateful on this day; this year I will blow out 17 candles on Thanksgiving Day. I am blessed to work as I do in such a way that I get to give back what was given to me on that cold day and help others walk out of the fire and into life.