text: (POSSIBLE TW) I pressed the gun up to my lips. I saw flashing lights through the tree branches. I put my finger on the trigger. Then, the clock struck six. I threw the gun to the ground. Tears began to trickle down my face. I fell to my knees and put my hands on my head. "How did I get here," I thought. I was a very well-behaved child. I never even told a lie. I couldn't bear the weight of my own actions. Guilt was an emotion that I never dealt well with. Overall, it was a normal life. As one might imagine, though, a life under such impossible standards was very tiring. Because of this, I spent a lot of time alone. The pressure to deal well with everyone was too much for me. One day, in high school, I met a girl. It was my first love. I eventually married her -- my high school sweetheart. It wasn't until then that I realized my life wasn't so "normal" and that sharing my life with another person wasn't going to be easy. I changed myself for her. I rid myself of every habit and tendency that was abnormal. My very normal life continued. I worked a nine-to-five job, my wife and I had a beautiful baby girl, and we lived a happy life. I dedicated my whole life to them. All but one hour. It wasn't intentional. It started five years ago. I was having trouble adjusting to my new life, and it was then, on my way home from the third interview of the week, that I noticed it. A secret place. It lay off the side of the road just around the corner of what would later be my place of work. I noticed it in the mirror as I drove past. I was having a rough day and thought I could use the fresh air. Truthfully, I needed some time to myself to gather my thoughts. I walked over to where the trees parted and followed the dirt path to a beautiful opening. There was a creek there. It was peaceful, so I sat down. Before I knew it, an hour had past. I wasn't even sure what had happened. I thought I was just tired, so I hurried home. I later took the job, and for whatever reason, I told my wife to expect me home at six. This was unusual for me. I don't lie. But I justified this one as it seemed completely harmless. It wasn't like I was doing anything wrong. At least, not at first. For the first year, nothing much happened, but as time went on, I began to notice a pattern. My memories of my time spent in what I now affectionately called "my little slice of paradise" became progressively more foggy. But I never cared much. What I did know was that I felt more like myself during that hour that I did for the other twenty-three hours of the day, and as far as I could tell, my "me time" made me a better man -- a better husband and a better father. By year three, I had no memory of the hour spent in my slice of paradise. It was then that things began to get weird. I started noticing unusual searches in my search history. Unusual turned into scary. I was ashamed of myself. I felt that these searches were out of character for me, but something inside me prevented me from ever coming clean. In the coming years, I amassed an unbearable amount of guilt. Guilt for things I had no recollection of doing. I can only describe it as a heavy weight on my shoulders. Still, no matter how hard I tried to remember -- nothing. I couldn't remember a thing. And so I kept living my life. Surely I wasn't really a bad person. I comfortably lived my life for five years, and then the day finally came. "POLICE! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD, SIR! ON THE GROUND!" The officer tackled me to the ground. As I lay with my head against the dirt, I saw a body. Blood was on my hands. I began to wail. I heard my wife's voice. "TOM! HOW COULD YOU?" For the duration of the ride to the station, I had a headache. It was a pain unlike anything I had ever experienced before. The lights didn't help. The next day was overwhelming. I couldn't stop thinking about what I did and what might happen at five o'clock. I looked up at the clock and read "four forty-nine." I let out a sigh and got up from where I was seated. It was five thirty-one by the time I got back to my cell. My mind was unusually clear. Everything was clear. It was all coming back to me. Everything that I had done. Now, it must be five fifty. The feeling I have in my chest is so painful. My heart is beating so fast. I can't catch my breath. I grasp my hair in my hands and begin to pull. I lean to the wall and begin to tap my forehead against the brick. My thoughts are so loud. My hearing begins to buzz. My brain feels like it is pulsating. Thoughts of all of the terrible things I have done are spinning around my head. I pick up the pace. I repeatedly slam my head into the wall. My vision goes red. I'm screaming. I hear the guards coming. I'm being restrained. I begin to wonder where this pain is coming from and why I'm bleeding. I begin to yell. "I WANT TO GET BETTER I WANT TO GET BETTER I WANT TO GET BETTER I WANT TO GET BETTER I WANT..." Oh, it must be six.