When I was 13, I thought about killing myself. I had it planned out and everything.

My plan was to slit my wrist while driving fast in a police chaise (because police chaises are cool).

I walked out of my apartment in the early morning with my mom’s car keys, her cell phone (to call
the police officers), and a kitchen knife.

Okay, now why did I even think of killing myself? Centipedes. Yes, there were a few centipedes in
my house and it crept me out. Also, I felt like I didn’t have anything to live for.

I walked to the car with all of the necessary tools. I actually started the car up, but there was one
thing that made me stop…

My mom’s car had a steering column shifter, and I couldn’t figure out how to put the car in drive.
After a few attempts of shifting, I turned the car off, went inside, and forgot all about it. But to
this day, I think that if I figured out how to put the car in drive back then, I’d be dead or at least
traumatized from the experience.