Living is a choice, sometimes its not an easy one

Ive wanted to kill myself ever since my rape at age 13. I havent admitted it to many, and the few I have I regret. Ive attempted a total of 2 times. Once I took enough meth that I figured tearing off my skin would be a good idea. I have scars from where I tried to dig a blade into my leg from that night. My brother found me, kept me safe and when I came back to my senses I never thought Id ever cry like that in my life. That was the day I decided to get clean and accept myself. The last time I tried was after a 6 year long battle of self worth and self importance and over medication. I couldnt take it. Everything had lost its meaning to me. This medication I took killed everything precious to me. I was trapped. So I thought why not let this pill destroy everything. I wrote a letter to my friends. I took half my bottle of Kepra before laying down to sleep. I told them I loved them, the only boy I had ever loved got his own entire page. But I woke up violently vomiting in a hospital. The choice to whether live or die lingers heavily in me. And now, half way across the world from my friends and family, and a few cities away from the only boy I had ever loved, Im having a hard time sticking by the circumstances that have kept me here, circumstances I deemed fate. What is my life if the only love ive ever given out to someone is being tossed away. Youre suppose to get what you give right? Why am i only getting misery…?