On April 16, 2020, Drew Robinson woke up, sat at his kitchen table, and finished writing a note that would explain to his family and friends why he had decided to end his life.
“I hope you guys realize that no one could've seen this coming to prevent it, because of how hard I tried to hide it, he wrote. “It's no one's fault.”
He apologized to Daiana, Darryl, Renee, Britney, and Chad—the five people he loved the most. The ones who knew him best and still couldn't see the sadness suffocating him. Even they believed the avatar he had created: a Major League Baseball player, handsome, charming, funny, with an easy laugh and a big smile. At 27, Drew was living his dream and yet wanting to die.
At about 8 p.m., while sitting his couch, he lifted his handgun, pressed it against his right temple, and pulled the trigger.
That was supposed to be the end of Drew Robinson's story. But over the next 20 hours, he would come to realize it was the beginning of another.
It's six days before Christmas 2020. Drew is feeling thankful. He wants to tell the world what happened so he can heal, and maybe help others heal too.
He knows there are a million questions. How did he live for nearly an entire day with a giant hole on the right side of his head, with no medical attention? Few people survive self-inflicted gunshot wounds to the head. Even rarer are those who emerge with clarity, purpose.
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