Four years ago, in about an hour, I will have tried to kill
myself for the third time in two months.
I will have changed
clothes, into something somewhat comfortable. I will have walked
into my mother’s room, taken the sleeping pills off the bedside
table, and taken as many as I could possibly manage without water.
I will have thought about writing a note, but then decide against
it.
I will lay down and wait to die. And then I will wake up in the
hospital, forced to drink liquid charcoal and tell the doctor why I
tried to kill myself
. All of this will have happened exactly four
years ago, in about an hour. The next three days are the most vivid
in my memory in terms of painful. I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, I did
not do a single thing for three days while I sat in the suicide
ward of a mental institution, except for feel sorry for myself.
I’m
looking at my 14 year old self, wondering what the hell I was
thinking. I really wish I could go back in time and punch myself in
the face. But, I was stupid and naive and I’m not going to dwell on
it.
I just thought it was worth mentioning.
But anyways.
My mind
has been in a million places today, and I’m exhausted now. I’ve hit
every emotion known to man the past 24 hours and I’m just about
sick of it. I cried for the first time in ages today. Well, I’ve
cried about Algebra and being an almost failure, but I don’t count
that. This was different. I felt like someone was ripping my
stomach out and the world was ending. But I’m better now. That is
all.
