When I was thirteen my father was killed by a drunk driver. We had been very close. After less than two months my mother had someone else that she was seeing which just ripped me up inside. My best friend that I had grown up with since we were little was moving hundreds of miles away and my next best friend was moving over three hours away, which when you are thirteen could be another country as far as you are concerned. I had no close friends and no one to talk to except a doctor my mother was making me see, but I couldn’t even talk to her because she told my mother everything. My mother and I fought with each other to the point she would call the cops on me. I felt like I had nobody and everybody I did have was being taken away from me. One night I felt extremely tired and couldn’t get to sleep no matter what. I decided to take over a hundred of my sister’s Ritalin to see if I could go to sleep. I wanted more than anying to just fall asleep and not wake up anymore. I stayed up all night crying thinking about my life. I realized sometime in the early morning that I had two little sisters who had also lost their father and then I thought about what it would do to them if they had to grow up knowing that their sister committed suicide. I went to the hospital the next morning with a heart rate of 190 over 136. The doctors couldn’t tell me why I was still alive.
Now six years later there are still all the problems I had then and sometimes I still feel like doing something about it but then I think about how much I don’t want my sisters to face this world alone.