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I didn’t expect it. I didn’t see.

But that’s just all what I believed then—how I understood things before I’d been on the earth for 33 years and ended up locked in a bathroom, once again, blaming myself for losing everything I loved.

I was so angry, the fire within me was burning up the world crashing in.

I was about to kill somebody.

Either myself. Or my husband. Or my best friend. Or maybe all of us.

And not figuratively. Seriously. The gun was on the floor I was running out of the energy to save myself.

I cried. I felt like no one would ever hear me, but I cried out for the name I’d heard my mother scream so many times. My God. The heat in me boiled out of my mouth so fast that I lurched forward to my knees.

“God,” I cried. “God, help me!”

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