I was in a marriage with a girl I had been with since middle school, with endless amounts of problems and seemingly no way out. I was on track to do nothing fulfilling for the rest of my life. My wife told me, in therapy, that I was always second to her career, that she really has no interest in allowing or supporting me in finding mine.

I decided to take control over my life at that point, by ending it. I remember fading from the drugs I had taken, and an overwhelming sense of calm washing over me. I awoke in a pool of vomit, while I slept I had thrown up most of the pills and alcohol. Later a doctor told me the pills messed up my stomach pretty bad, but I felt fine.

I left my wife and drove across the country to North Dakota where my family hails from with the intention of killing myself there. My dad gave me a room and I stayed there for a couple months laying low before my second attempt. Again, this amazing calm.

I was in the bathtub and my dad found me and took me to the hospital. I spent a while in an institution. I honestly felt like something had died or broke inside of me then, like I was in the wrong body. I started my comic then, and moved away from the cold and from family. Along the way I decided I wasn't going to live for anyone else again, or try even to be with anybody again. I wanted to succeed in being alone at least, being in total control, before I allowed somebody in. I don't think I ever will, I'm happier now than I've ever been. And honestly, regardless of all that, every night I fall asleep with the thought of that peace washing over me, and I think that someday I'll end my life on my terms, and everything will be okay.