“You’ve got to do something with this,” I said. I walked up to him and handed him the gun. “How did it go?” Bob asked, turning from the computer as I came in. I had lied to my husband Bob that I was going to a church meeting so it would take him longer to miss me and I would be further out of town. I walked back into the house carrying the gun. I got to Highway 25 going north then decided what I wanted to do was go home and go to sleep.

“Will you listen to yourself? That’s not true,” Jesse insisted. “Go on up there and clear your head but come back afterwards. Bob can find someone who can be better to him, and the kids can have a mom who’s not sick in the head.” But come back to Bob and your kids when you’re done. “Go on to Starkville if you want,” he urged. “Look up some of your old professors and wander around and see how it’s changed if that’s what you want. “I can’t stand it anymore, Jesse,” I said. “But trying to kill yourself won’t solve your problems,” Jesse reasoned. “It’s better than doing it at home,” I responded. “You can’t just run off and kill yourself,” pleaded Jesse, a friend I had on the phone as I drove. I planned to check into a hotel and be done with it. 38 pistol beside me and my clothes packed. I drove around Brandon for three hours with my husband’s.

Mississippi Center for Investigative ReportingīRANDON, Miss.

Whats keeping me from killing myself