How Choosing to Believe in the Coincidental has Made My Life a Little Bit Better
About four years ago, I lost a close friend to suicide, and I blamed myself for it.
Of course, there was no possible way that his death could have been my fault, but there was a part of me that would never let me fully believe that. So, I shoved that entire situation down.
In hindsight, this was a horrible idea, and I probably should have just gone to therapy a lot sooner than I did. Either way, the feeling of guilt that I had tried to squash down all those years ago had reappeared, and it had begun to take over my life.
During my freshman year of college, I found comfort in the fact that I could leave whenever I wanted, and that I could go wherever I wanted as well.
This brought me to Walmart at around two in the morning on a Wednesday.
I didn’t need anything from Walmart. I’m not even sure if I ended up getting something at all. Nothing physical, at least. Because I did get a story to tell that I have thought about at least twice a week over the past year and a half.
I had wandered into the aisle filled with boxes of tea, and I’d decided that I would pick some up. Maybe spearmint.
