I tried

Nobody knew that I wanted to die.

I laughed. I was in love. I had all the friends anybody could want.

But nobody knew that I was hurting like Hell. The thought that I was living that life that I’m living made me sick. Made me tired. Made me want to give up.

I tried killing myself. I took 20 50mg sleeping pills. But I’m still here. Woke up in a hospital with hospital food in front of me. I remeber it like it was yesterday. I took the pills. Smoked half a pack of cigarettes, and gave my goodbye notebook to my mother. She took me to the hospital, and made me drink charcoal.

I didn’t puke like I was expected to, but I didn’t die. I stayed the night at the hospital for two nights. Then I was sent to a mental hospital. I was inpatient (lived there) at the hospital four 8 long days. Then I only went during the day(partial/outpatient) for a week.

I was in groups all day. I was in chemical dependency (CD), where they repeated the same words. “Don’t do drugs. Weed is bad. Cigarettes are bad. Alcohol is bad.”

Sometimes I ask myself “Why the hell didn’t you just fucking die?”

But I don’t know where I’m headed after this life. I don’t know what will happen to me. The life I’m living is tiresome. But I guess I won’t leave until something takes me to my death. Maybe then, I’ll want to stay.

Until then, at least I know I tried.