The Time I Bought a Gun

Six weeks ago I bought a gun. I bought it while I was out running errands and of all my errands that day, it was the easiest.

I have struggled with suicidal thoughts for the majority of my life, and many nights I’ve thought “I wish I had a gun, I could just end it all.” And then often the next morning, I was grateful I had no access to a firearm. I have always hated guns, have signed petitions for stricter gun laws, and never imagined I would hold a loaded hand gun, much less own one but that’s exactly what happened. The idea of even getting my hands on a firearm seemed foreign to me. I am a sheltered, suburban girl and the only guns I had ever seen were in movies, on the news, or of the Nerf variety.

But then a gun store opened up in my neighborhood and I began to pass it several times a week. I became fixated on it. It had a quaint sign and was located in a strip mall, next to a place you could make your own pie. Honestly, I am more likely to be the type of person obsessed with the pie place, but I have been battling this disease, suffering, going in and out of hospitals, getting treatment, and still feeling like shit.

So I went in to the store, owned by a kind family. A man in his 60s ran the place and his sons worked there. He kissed his grown boys as they entered and exited. He seems like the kind of dad or grandpa anyone would want to have. The store had a poster warning you that Hillary wants to take your guns and a sign that asked you to “like” the gun store on Facebook.

I said I was interested in purchasing a gun. He guided me to my reason why, asking “For self-defense?” “Yes.” I said, knowing I wanted to use it for the exact opposite reason. He helped me pick out a hand gun, taught me how to load it and had me fill out a background check, which I passed. Are you suicidal? Are you in good mental health? These were not questions on the form.

There is no waiting period in Ohio so in 28 minutes I walked out with a gun. I went on to run a couple other errands. I had dinner with a friend, saying nothing about the weapon in my car. I wanted to pull the trigger. I all of the sudden got why people love guns. The power. So much power. I felt so beaten down by this disease, but now I held something that, in a second, could end my pain.

But the pain would not have ended, it would have been passed on to those who love me, most of all my son. So instead of pulling the trigger, I texted my therapist. She called me back and helped me through.

The next day on my way to check myself in to a mental hospital, I would return the gun.

I entered the kind man’s store and listened as Greased Lightning played on the radio, chuckling at how odd that seemed to me. I told him I wanted to sell the gun back. He told me I would lose some money on the deal and asked why I wanted to return the firearm. I said I didn’t feel I was mentally healthy enough to have it.

He said “Good for you for recognizing that!” and then added “If you are feeling better mentally, come back and I’ll give you a discount on your next purchase.”

The improv comedian in me smiled at the comedy of this sentence, the suicidal me took note of his offer.

I would then go check myself in to the hospital, which took 7.5 hours longer than it took to get the gun, and now I continue to get the help I need. Alive, safe, weapon returned.

Not many stories end the way mine do. The man at the store said I was the first to return a firearm to him. I was lucky to have a therapist I had access to and to be able to see the true impact my actions would cause.

And here’s the thing. I have no plans to take the man up on my store credit, but I so get the excitement people get out of holding something that can give you so much power so quickly, which is why I am more sure than ever we need to prevent situations like mine from happening. And any real  gun advocate would want that too.