Article February 16, 1981 Issue

SUICIDE IS NOT A WAY OUT

Deborah Appleton Huebsch

It finally happened one foggy morning. I sat cross-legged on my bed and wrote a note to my family—a suicide note. I couldn't face life any longer.

With tears running down my face, I wrote that my sister would get my little dog, my plants would go to the lady across the hall, and so on. It was a pitiful list, symbolizing what I felt was a pitiful life—one without hope.

For nearly a year I had been plagued with the strong temptation to end it all. I simply didn't feel I could handle another day!

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