Suicide Retention

Many years ago in Nashville I had called the suicide help line.  It was late at night, I was wandering the streets, and I had a razor blade.  I just could not bring myself to cut my arm deep enough to break a vein.  I did, though, scratch up my forearm until it was a bloody scabby mess.   I found a pay phone and called the number.  I didn’t know what to say.  Dude on the other line asked what my problem was.  I said I didn’t know, cause, ya know, I didn’t know.  So he gave me the, “quit wasting my time, we need this line open for people with real problems.”  I hung up.  Some times I get to feeling like I should call them again, but then I remember what happened last time, and I dont.
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About Kevin Barbieux

I have been diagnosed as being chronically homeless. I write about my experiences and opinions of being homeless
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