I graduated from high school in 1991, a month before my 17th birthday.

I had friends and, as far as I know, no enemies.  I had dated.  I was a good student and I had diverse, nonacademic interests and abilities, primarily sports and music.  I was NORMAL.


I was in a psychiatric unit in 1992.  I had sought admission, thinking that I could sort out some problems and move on with my life.  I didn't know that I was going to be buried alive.