I felt my eyes closing from the weight of the thirty or so pills I just swallowed. As I slowly slid down the chair in the Manhattan law office where I was employed as an attorney, I immediately knew I made a mistake. As I started dying, I realized I never wanted to leave my beautiful wife and abandon the life we planned. I was just 29 years old and had thought I wanted to end it all. Oops. Thank god for stomach pumps. In the psych ward at NYU Hospital, surrounded by folks with some pretty serious shit to deal with, I asked myself why I really took the pills? Maybe quitting would have been easier. I was miserable practicing law. I wanted to be a singer. I had been pushed into law by my parents, who, in all fairness, just wanted the best for me. Unfortunately, they almost loved me to death. This is the story of how I ended up in the hospital, all the really stupid shit I said along the way, and how I figured out happiness twenty three years later.