It's Been A Year.

I can't remember the date, but the day was Tuesday, January 2012. I had an okay day, until the ending. I was in school, about to get signed up for my driver's license class. My parents were on their way, unsuspecting of anything. But I mean, no one expected it. Not even me. But it was all my fault. THEY were in the way.
I went to the restroom and kicked in all the doors. No one was there. **** it, I was finally doing it. **** this world and **** it's people. I f*cking hate this sh*t world. It's pointless, just like my existence.
Now if you were close to me, you would know that I have an extreme distaste for swallowing pills and can never get them down without a drink. Luckily, I had a juice box in my backpack (so maybe I had thought about it a few minutes earlier.) In a way, it was somewhat planned, but I never really stopped to think about it. I just put two and two together. I almost went to my favorite teacher so we could talk first, but what if THEY were there? Then I'd want to die even more. I was safe in the restroom.
I took a handful. I was crying so hard that it hurt to swallow. And in between the muffled moans and tears, some pills were spat out. I was desperate. I picked them up off the floor, went to the sink, poured the tap water into my palms, and used that to swim them into my stomach. I was dying goddamm*t. Today was the day. Nothing was going to stop me,
I expected a rumbling stomach. I expected to pass out. I expected to have convulsions. All I got was a fast heart rate.
About an hour later, after signing all the papers, my parents decided to take me out for pizza (my favorite treat). I began crying. Maybe it was that my mom was treating me like her daughter, like I deserved some kind of reward for taking a drivers course. But I didn't deserve sh*t, so I guess I felt guilty. I told her. But not because I feared for my life, but I feared for hers without me in it.
When her brother committed suicide, she almost went with him.
Imagine if her only daughter did.
I was hospitalized for five days, transferred to three hospitals, interrogated by twenty people. I answered the same answers, only to different doctors, nurses, counselors, therapists. I was connected to IVs that made me throw up the poison. Blood, that smelled literally like alcohol, fled in small quantities from my mouth, all while my entire family was watching: my mother holding the bag, my grandmother holding back my hair. I couldn't shower, I couldn't eat (even though I was starving), I couldn't f*cking wipe. The horror. The bill. I told my mom that I was sorry it was so expensive to die. I thought I was dead. And the heart monitor kept as a constant reminder that I was being watched and that fluids were keeping me alive.
The following day, at lunch time, I checked my facebook to see an older girl mocking me. "Hey! I'm in the hospital. I have severe brain damage. I might not live. But the doctor said I probably will. Oh and I'm moving." Yeah. I said I wanted to move because she and her friends would probably make fun of me even more if they found out. And they did. THEY did. The post on facebook only proved it. While she was on her phone at school, I was on mine in my third hospital bed. This just goes to show, ladies and gentlemen, that people will always talk sh*t no matter what. This b*tch was the pastor's daughter, prom queen, secret sl*tty "I'm-better-than-you," honors society whor*. **** people who are given everything and mistreat it comepletely. Never give anybody like her the ability to destroy you. THEY are not worth your life. Do you get that if you kill yourself over someone, you're giving that person the satisfaction of controlling your death? It doesn't matter who it is, they are NOT that important. You control you, not anyone else.
I've been improperly diagnosed with a bunch of sh*t. I've been given medicines for many different mental disorders, and I've been off them for about a month or two. I don't think pills made me any better (or any worse), but because I was always switching prescriptions I could never tell if any of them worked.
Since my last attempt, I've never really shaken off the thought of how pleasant dying would be. I often question my existence, but never try killing myself. I figure if I was meant to die, I'd have been dead already. I would have died in school, or Pizza Hut, or the hospital. But here I am, indestructible liver and all. Sharing my story. It's been a year.
decembersnow decembersnow
18-21, F
Jan 22, 2013