The first time I made an attempt it was more of an escape then anything else. I was a young soldier on a battle field that has since been long forgotten.
All I can recall is that I didn't really agree with the reasons for going to war. But I was young and naive and easily manipulated. Coming from a poor family also left me with very little options.
Within a few months every acquantance I had made was dead. Those who remained had hollow eyes filled with gloom.
My sanity cracked one morning and so I took my blade from my holster and opened my wrists. I'm pretty sure those we remained called me a coward but I didn't care.
Flashes of white and nothingness. After the white left the nothingness remained. I was a young man in my early 20's. Had my whole life ahead of me. I had a sweetheart who was my life.
But a drunk driver took any chance of happiness away from me. I went to the road where I lost her. Her car went off the edge of a hill. And so did I, with my bottle of Jack in hand.
The third attempt I made came when I was an older man. Now the memories were gone, they would never follow over. But the scars of my soul were always there.
Even as a kid I could feel a deep pain. My parents tried to medicate but it just turned me to a zombie. I tried different prescriptions until I found one that worked. Meth.
As I sit in a corner of an apartment that I'm not even sure whom it belongs to, I see flashes of my former lives.
How many times must I play through this? Why can't I just make it end? Tonight I will mix a special cocktail of drugs and booze. Maybe this time it will stick.
Maybe they will stop sending me back.