A book I just finished reading reminded me that today is a special anniversary. On this day in 1961, Ernest Hemingway put a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger with his toe. He was depressed, “the words just won’t come anymore.” As an aspiring writer, his words cut deep into me.
I didn’t need a book to remind me that someone closer and more influential to me (though some people would be surprised that there is such a person) died on this day as well.
I write this here because you, my readership, matter to me. (I’m not writing a similar post on social media like Facebook.) I write this to say that if you are depressed or just weighed down and not able to handle life, please seek out help. Don’t take Ernest’s way out.