It still breaks my heart.
From that day, when I was 14, and the drug deal which went bad, and the guns blazed, and I staggered home looking up at heaven crying my eyes out "God, how did I get HERE, how did I turn into this. PLEASE, God", and I just couldn't take it any more and I put my gun up to my head and pulled the trigger, but my hand was shaking and the gun recoiled and the bullet hit my head at a strange angle and richoched off, and I just had a terrible headache. A piece of the bone was shot away, I still have a wierd depression at the base of my skull, and I blacked out.
When I came to, I ran home and on the coffee table was an invitation to the Memorial, so I hitchhiked to the Kingdom Hall.
And in my army jacket with the confederate flag on the right shoulder, with my hair longer than any of the girls in the hall, still carrying a gun, still holding drugs, I walked into the wrong door and came right out on the stage. And it was a black congregation. LOL. And one of the brothers took me to sit in the front row and a kindly elderly sister shared her song book with me. And the love I felt. I KNEW I had found God. I was crying through the entire meeting.
And I ran home and dug a hole in the woods behind my house and buried the jacket and buried my guns and my knives and the drugs and I died that day, to the way I had been. The next day I got a hair cut and bought a suit and carried a bible in my pocket everywhere I went. And I witnessed to the entire school. The principal let me give a witness to the entire student body at a school assembly.
And later I learned it was all lies. And it broke my heart. And it still does. And I hate the Governing Boyd and the WTBTS.