A week ago I was admitted into the E.R for a pill overdose. I don’t remember a lot but I remember enough. I even remember the needle going into my stomach to prevent Blood clots I remember them putting in a catheter, I remember be asked over and over how much I took and I remember answering yes when the Doctor asked me if I was trying to kill myself. I was in ICU for three days. I had Doctors asking me over and over what I did and I had to keep repeating that I took a bottle of pills. I had social workers come I asking me why I did it and if I would try again. I remember lying that I had never tried before. This was the closest I’d ever come. While it’s true I probably wont try again it’s not because I don’t want to die still it’s because I don’t want to risk failing again and having to go through all of that over. Once I was medically fit to leave they send me to a crises place where I had to stay in what felt like a prison over night. They put me in a room with big open windows and a small bed. I constantly had people watching me. Luckily I only had to talk to someone one time there and that was when I first arrived. I now have to see a counselor. I was diagnosed with depression when I was in elementary school. Last year I asked my Doctor for help. She said she couldn’t do anything unless I told her right then I was going to hurt myself and if I said that she said she would have to call the police. I did try and get help, no one would help me. I teach dance and the hardest part about this is no one outside of my family knows that I tried to kill myself. They think I was out sick for a week. Only one person knows I was in the hospital. If I told them maybe they would understand why I go silent and curl up into myself in class. Maybe they would realize that when I look said it’s because I am. I am not alright I have not been alright for a long time. But I can’t tell them this. Matter of fact even though my mother constantly says I can talk to her about anything I can’t even go in there with out her bitching about her problems. I wish I wouldn’t have made it to the E.R I wish I would have died. No life doesn’t get better. You still have to deal with people who don’t get it, people who make you hate yourself, people who make you feel horrible. You still have to work mindless shitty jobs and go to school to hopefully get a job you at least some what like. You still have to live a life that you don’t want. It doesn’t get easier. I can’t do anything right. I can’t even kill myself properly.