I was in the house and I overheard my mother and father talking, and Mother was crying and protesting. My father was saying I would have to get out of the house. I came into the room (I just barged in, in my characteristic way) and wanted to know what the heck was going on. And he said I was going to have to leave, and I asked him why, and he said for two reasons. In the first place, that I was too much of a burden on my mother, and in the second place, that I would never be any good, that he would always have to be taking care of me. (If I ever told my father this, he'd be heartbroken.) My mother was crying, she was miserable. She didn't want me to go, so she was just miserable. I stalked out of the room and said, "All right, I'll really go!" and I went out in the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife and ran out of the house. I hid in some deep grass (which we do not have) and I could hear my mother telephoning for the police and asking them to please come and find me. Then I tried to slit my throat with the butcher knife, but I just couldn't do it (psychologically, not physically, I mean). My mother came running out and she found me, and she carried me in the house and put me to bed. She tried to get me to talk, but I couldn't speak because I was so shocked by the experience. I woke up crying.