My Hero

The day after I finished my suspension from the incident I posted about in my post "Scars", I was feeling the worst I have ever felt. My parents could see, and were worried about me, so they forced me to come along with the family to my little sisters soccer game. I had little to no interest in the game, and really didn't want to be in public.
I had plans to take my own life later that night. The plan at the time was to tie weights to myself and go into the damn on my parents property, late at night so they wouldn't be able to see me.
To cheer me up, my dad took me to the music store afterwards. Basses had long been a keen interest of mine and I quickly noticed the basses out the back, so I went to look at them.
None really took my fancy, but there was a guitar for sale as part of a package. It was a cheap knock off of a Fender Stratocaster, but at the time I didn't know or care. It was $300, the amount of money I had saved exactly. I told mum that I liked the guitar, and she bought it for me, telling me to give her the money when I got home.
The guitar was the last one there, so I got the only color they had, black. I played it the whole way home, in the back of the guitar with the cheap guitar picks I got with it as part of the pack.
Because I wanted to use the amp, my mum dropped me off at my grandma's, where I had my own room in the basement, where my drum kit was along with my game consoles and tv. There was a computer up stairs, so I ran in with my guitar and amp, and printed of the tab to my favorite song at the time, sweet child o' mine by guns n roses.
Then I went downstairs, and just played. I was absolute shit, but I love the feeling the guitar gave me. I stopped 3 hours later, having all the fingers on my left hand bandaged from bleeding. I played it literally like Bryan Adams sings in "Summer of 69" with the line "I got my first real 6 string...played it 'til my fingers bleed"
That night, I slept the best I had in months. I woke up the next day, and played again, breaking the scabs and bleeding all over the strings, but I didn't care.
The day after, I took it to school and spent all recess and lunch playing again. Kids still insulted me, but I could ignore them when I had the guitar. It was like a shield.
Eventually I broke a string after a particularly harsh morning of insults from kids. That left me in a rage for the day because I couldn't play guitar, so when I got home, I bought a paint pen, spray paint and new strings, and decorated the guitar to show how everyone felt about me. I ended up with a black, sparkle silver and hot pink guitar, that caught anyone's attention. I called the guitar after it's paint job. It was named "Freak" (My banner is actually an inverted picture of Freak's body after I broke it's neck)
This guitar single handedly made me feel completely different and I became happier. I've had guitars since, but freak has always been a favorite no matter what. It really is My Hero.