What's Wrong With Me?

I wake up in a white room, a stiff bed under me. I smell the distinct smell of death, wishing that could be me making that smell. I look around and remember. I remember the handful of pills I debated against taking. I remember the tears, putting them back into the bottle and pouring them out over and over.
I remember the lump in my throat after swallowing them, those sleeping pills that would give me eternal sleep.
Instead of that sleep I am here, in this hospital, a pumped stomach and my mom sitting beside my bed. "Why am I here? I shouldn't be here, I want to be dead, can't you see that?! Why did you bring me here, its the last place I want to be! These people are being saved by doctors that save, but I didn't want to be saved!" I don't mean to yell but I hate her, and this place, this hell, I wanted to leave. Then I think I might be safer in here.