7th grade is when I decided to end my life. Obviously it didn't work. I had planned out everything. What pills to take (pain killers and sleeping pills), I had written my notes, and I had made sure my parents were going to be out of the house.
I don't remember everything all that clearly. I had taken the pain killers and the sleeping pills first, and as an extra precaution, I cut deep into my arms. I remember my arms being on fire, and I had blacked out a few times before growing unconscious.
The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. I had forgotten to lock the bathroom door, and my older brother had found me. They had said I had lost quite a lot blood. I also remember my best friend, Allen, walking into my hospital room with tears in his eyes. He was the only one that had ever been there for me. It broke my heart seeing him like that.
I honestly wish I had locked the door, maybe I'd be dead, and everybody would be happy.
YOU ARE READING
Depression
Non-FictionThis is basically my story with cutting and depression, you can just click out if you're going to say I deserved it.
