Early each morning as part of my spiritual practices I trudge up the foot paths that wind along Glassy Mountain behind Carl Sandburg's home. This morning, as I stop to catch my breath, my mind flashes to a time in the early '80s, a bad and ugly, yet necessary time.

I'm lying on the bathroom floor in my apartment in Greensboro, North Carolina, during another time of contemplation. As I lie in a fetal position on the floor, sobbing, I can't remember how I ended up there or how long I'd been there. I know only that I'm in great pain and will do anything to make it stop. I imagine what I might do if I had a gun. Would I have the nerve to use it? If I did, would I screw it up like I'd screwed up the rest of my life? The more I think about it, the more real the gun becomes, until finally I realize it's not my imagination but a real gun--a snub nose revolver --I hold in my hand.

I feel the smooth wooden handle in my palm and the cold metal circle of the snub nose pressed against my temple. My finger begins to tighten on the trigger. Just a little more pressure, a quick flash of pain, and the deeper pain will finally be over. Funny, I think as I lay there, how many people will be surprised to learn of my suicide. To outward appearances, I'm a successful veterinarian, with my own practice, investments in real estate, a fancy car, a wallet full of credit cards--all the trimmings of a supposedly successful life. But beneath the well-crafted exterior is a hollow core of emptiness and suffering. My life feels worthless, without any real meaning. All the adornments of my "Good Life" don't add up to true happiness or fulfillment. The truth is, I feel alone in the world, with no one who truly cares about me or understands what I'm going through.

Suddenly, someone has invaded my privacy. "Go away," I think as loudly as I can, then realize I'm also shouting it. "Go away! Leave me alone!"

But whoever it is, doesn't leave. A moment later I smell the pleasant fragrance of a woman's perfume, then the voice of an angel. "It's OK, Brad. We're going to get you some help. It's OK." I recognize the voice of my friend Rebecca.

Now, as I sit watching the exquisite sunrise over the Blue Ridge Mountains, that day in Greensboro seems to be from a different person's life, and in many ways it is. I am no longer that confused, scared, lonely young man. I no longer practice veterinary medicine; instead, I'm the founder of the spiritually-based Life On Purpose Institute. And today I can truthfully say my life is filled with purpose and meaning.

2003 Brad Swift of Life On Purpose Institute, Inc. This article can be reprinted freely online, as long as the entire article and this resource box are included.