Buying a gun

I am struggling with this one as I do not want to provide anyone with a step by step process on how to kill ones self.  But this is mostly for my befit and remembering what the head I was thinking when I did this.  This isnt to tell you how to do this, this is to show you the idiocy of what I was doing and thinking. 

If you have been reading my previous posts, you are probably picking up that I am not a fan of guns.  I had never own one prior to the one that I purchased to kill myself.  I had no idea what to look for in a gun.  I didn't really need it to have too many bells and whistles since I didn't expect to use it more than once.  Thats a pretty bad joke but its true.  

It was July 2, 2017.  A typical hot summer day in Virginia.  My wife and I had another fight that morning.  I can't say I know what it was about.  I was in a really dark place and wasn't all that pleasant.  I do vividly remember saying to her that she never considers how she makes others feel. At that point, nothing she could have said would have made me feel better and I was likely deflecting.  I hopped on my motorcycle and drove to the the nearest Cabela's to look at their guns.  At that point, I didn't really have a specific plan in mind, just that I knew that I needed a gun to make it happen. 

I am 6'2, 260 lbs and strutting in all of the swagger of someone riding a big V-Twin motorcycle.  I have a suspicion that as I approached the display case, the guys behind them figured that I knew what I wanted and it would be a quick transaction.  

"Morning, what are you looking for?"

"Um, not sure.  I guess I am just looking right now"

"OK, just holler when you need to see something."

Honestly, I had no clue what I was looking for.  I just wanted something that I could put bullets in and shoot them.  But as I looked at all of the handguns, I decided I needed something cool looking.  I guess the notion of someone finding me with a hole in my head and a lame handgun in my hand was just unacceptable.  

So I held a few, looking like a knew what I was doing, and selected a Smith and Wesson SD40.  Below is a picture of it.  Looks kinda manly and cool, doesn't it?  

If you said yes, you are wrong.  

I think it was $350 or something like that. I said that I will take it but before I could wrap up my new purchase, I had to pass a background check.  This had to be the stupidest process I have ever experienced.  

The guy directed me to a computer and had me fill out some questions.  After a few minutes, I learned that I failed the background check.  I said that I had no idea why I would have failed, I have no felonies or anything unusual.  In fact, I had a government clearance and if you can pass one of those, you sure as hell should be able to pass a gun background check.  This is where it got weird.

The guy, who I learned was a police officer, picking up some side cash at Cabela's, suggested that I retake the check and this time, I should reconsider my answers and change some.  That I may have been over thinking some or one of the questions.  He then smiled and winked at me.  I answered them all honestly.  but then went I went back and retook it, this question jumped out at me:

Are you an unlawful user of, or addicted to, marijuana or any depressant, stimulant, narcotic drug, or any other controlled substance?

I answered honestly that I had previously smoked weed.  Thinking that some weed 20 years ago wasn't that big of a deal.  But since that could be the only one that was preventing me from taking home the sweet tool of death,  I decided to say that I had not.  

And low and behold, I passed.  

How fucking stupid. 

Anyway, I picked out a box of ammo that the moonlighting cop suggested as his preferred bullets.  

And with that, I walked out with a shiny new gun and box of bullets.  Walking through the store, I felt so proud of my purchase.  I could feel all of the jealous eyes on me.  Yeah, this baby was gonna blow a beautiful hole in my skull that they would all envy. For the first time in my 47 years, I had my very own gun.  

I shoved the box in my shirt and carefully rode straight home.  I found a safe place in my garage to hide it until I would need it.  I loaded the bullets in the magazine and practiced my best Dirty Harry, feeling strong and powerful.  All the while, I knew what the purpose of the gun was.  That its one and only purpose would do the job.  

You know the drill and I do not want this to seem flip, but if you are hurting and need to talk to someone, please call the Suicide Prevention hotline at 800-273-8255.