Copyright, Kid

Age 14 and in eighth grade I was happy and popular. Age 15 and in ninth grade I was extremely depressed. I don’t know why but maybe because a girl I loved fucked with my head. Or because I was confused when love hit me. Or because my “friends” turned on me. Whatever it was it sparked something. And the downward spiral began. In march of ninth grade it got to a point where I didn’t know who was who and what was what. I literally thought I was going insane. Was that voice real or was I just imagining it? Were those people making fun of me?

So one day after riding the school bus home with very intense feelings of extreme sadness (and I’m not saying that that day was any different than any other day) I arrived home, sat listening to music just crying and thinking should I? Should I? Until finally about a half an hour after I got home I went up stairs to my room and grabbed a bottle of Vicodin. I sat for a little while longer, thinking, crying. I’ve gotten that far before so it wouldn’t be a big deal if I didn’t but I told myself all day that this time would be different.

I went to the bathroom (still crying), put a couple in my mouth, put my mouth under the faucet to get some water, swallowed, and repeated again and again and again. I must have stood there for like 15 minutes staring at myself in the mirror. My face filled with tears, bloodshot eyes, snot dripping from my nose, and all the time crying. I grabbed a bottle of NyQuil (the green kind; I still remember) and downed it. It was probably the nastiest thing that I’ve ever tasted before but what did it matter? It was my cure.

I went to my room and started to look at some old pictures. I drank some vodka (I think) too but only had around two shots. I took some more pills, went downstairs and listened to music. I then heard my mom come in. She was calling my name saying that she was home. That was bad news. I didn’t want her to see me die. I quickly laid down on the couch, smiled, and closed my eyes.

I don’t remember when I woke up. I do remember though laying down with my eyes closed feeling like I was just waking up from sleeping, completely forgetting what I just did. I felt thirsty my mouth was so dry. It felt like it was so dry that I couldn’t breathe (my eyes were still closed). I jolted up real quick and opened my eyes at the same time but was quickly held down. When I opened my eyes I saw doctors all around me pushing me in a bed down the hall (just like on doctor shows) and my parents following me. I jolted again trying to tell them that I needed water but they kept holding me down. I tried to scream water! But I couldn’t talk. As hard as I tried I couldn’t talk. I then realized where I was and remembered what I did. I had a tube down my throat, thats why I couldn’t talk and had a hard time breathing. I don’t remember when I passed out again. I had gone in a coma for about 24 hours and I was in the section of the hospital where all the people who are about to die were. No one knew what happened. They pumped my stomach, gave me a spinal tap, put charcoal in me, and did a bunch of other shit. They found the bottle of Vicodin so they had somewhat of an idea but they couldn’t be sure.

No one (and I mean no one) knew I was depressed. After I told them that I tried to kill myself I was sent to a different hospital and put in a counseling part with a bunch of other fuck-ups. I was there for 2 weeks. That was a year ago. I still feel kind of depressed sometimes and sometimes for periods as long as 2 months but it’s not nearly as bad as it was then.


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