8:00 am

So you’re in a hole, Logan, and you want to get out. You think it’s difficult to climb out now. Well, you haven’t fought nearly hard enough. You need a few more obstacles to prove your commitment. Let’s see how you do with an additional ton of bricks on your head. Let’s see how much further you can sink.

When the doorbell rang yesterday morning, I was sure it was Max. I thought she had decided to come back to talk.

"Perfect timing!" I grinned as I opened the door with enthusiasm. I never expected Jonas and Margo.

"Logan, darling!" Aunt Margo breezed through the door, followed by Uncle Jonas with his usual gift bottle of wine. "We haven’t seen you since the wedding, so we thought we would come by and see how you are doing." There was almost a note of sincerity in Margo’s voice that the desperate part of me latched onto. They are my family after all.

"I’m okay. Thanks for asking." I answered cautiously as I escorted them into the apartment. A part of me couldn’t help thinking that, maybe this time, things would be different.

"We heard a rumor that you were undergoing a new therapy that was showing positive results." Jonas got right to the point even before I had put his ‘gift’ down in my lap. My stomach sank. They had come to see for themselves whether the black sheep of the family had managed to do something right for once, which of course he hadn’t.

"As you can see, it’s not true," I answered, trying to hide my disappointment. They were two weeks too late for the dog and pony show.

"Yes, I can see that." Jonas paused for a moment, not having much to say now that it was confirmed that I was as flawed as ever.

"Are you still writing those little articles?" He began again. His tone was disapproving, as if I was an immature child that needed supervision. "How can you live this way?" The way he looked at me, I wasn’t sure if he disapproved more of my writing or of my life in the wheelchair.

"I’m doing okay," I answered uncomfortably.

"I don’t think you are." Jonas snapped with growing impatience. He didn’t have to say anything else. I knew that he considered allowing myself to get shot to be the most irresponsible thing I'd ever done. The way he looked at me, I could tell that he was reviewing the list of all the things that I had done wrong, my irresponsibility, my failures, my embarrassment to the family. We had been through this so many times.

"Look, Jonas. I’m not the Messiah. I can’t walk on water." I began to defend myself for the thousandth time, but I suddenly realized how futile it was. I would never be the person he wanted me to be. And we would never have the relationship that I had hoped for all these years. I couldn’t even get angry. I just felt immensely sorry for what we had lost.

"I’m sorry," I whispered. I searched their eyes, looking for some sign of understanding. It was a foolish plea.

"So am I." Jonas’ tone as he turned to leave made it abundantly clear that I had brought this onto myself. I shut the door behind them, the family embarrassment once again.

"You allow yourself to be crapped all over by your family." That’s what Max said once before. I had done it again. Fool. Failure. Why did I expect more from them? Maybe Jonas was right. Maybe I was a failure. I couldn’t stand up to him or anyone else in my family.

I felt an overwhelming need to stand up, if only for a second. I moved to the computer desk and ignoring the searing pain in my chest, tried to push myself into a standing position. "Just stand up for once!" I yelled at myself. But of course, my legs couldn’t hold me up and neither could my arms. I fell onto the floor, taking the contents of the desktop with me. Jonas’ bottle shattered a couple of feet away from me, releasing a pool of wine onto the floor. I shoved the chair as far across the room as I could, wanting to get away from it and all it represented. Above me was the drawer where I kept my gun and by my leg was my phone. I began to reach for the phone. Then I changed my mind.

I pulled myself up towards the drawer, sending another stab of pain across my chest and down my arms, and pulled out the gun and the box of bullets. I removed the clip and pulled out a bullet. Those bullets still taunted me, telling me my life was meaningless. They were such a simple solution to all my problems. But as I rolled the bullet in my fingers just as I had done two weeks ago, I didn’t believe it anymore. I had spent so many years fighting and I wasn’t going to give up now. I wasn’t going to let my injury kill me, and I definitely wasn’t going to let Uncle Jonas kill me. I was going to fight for my life. With all the force of my determination, I picked up the gun and the box of bullets and I hurled them across the room. Then I picked up the phone.