I thought I'd bump this as I've written a little bit more. =]
Oh and thanks, Katy, I did go and edit it in my version on my comp!
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Mercifully the stain came out and I threw the red tinged wipes straight into the outside bin, hoping nobody would look too closely at its contents. I made my way to bed and collapsed into blissful unconsciousness. The following day passed in a blur, other than an argument I had with Mr Hall. In annoyance I had shouted at him that it had been 5am before I’d gotten to sleep before I had been silence by his asking why. The next week passed uneventfully, the visit to the walk in centre, though not forgotten, had been pushed aside. The day came, however, when I was to have a repeat of the same night.
It wasn’t too long until my visits to the walk in centre for stitches became a common occurrence. I had long since given up on the idea of a full nights sleep and instead rested fitfully on the nights I didn’t cut, barely resting at all on the nights I did. The new year had come and as the weeks past my mood plummeted. I never questioned what I was doing to myself, how could I? I was weak and vile, a complete waste of the planets resources. I decided that I had had enough and it was my time to go, but when? I couldn’t ruin my Elle’s birthday, but I didn’t want to live to mine. That gave me a month’s time frame. I had started to hoard paracetamol, which in my mind was bound to do the job, and one evening at the end of February I took the lot. I started off 2 at a time, but by the end I was taking 8 in one go. I went to bed feeling accomplished, satisfied by my decision and sure that I would never wake up again.
To my utter despair the next thing I was aware of was my mother knocking on my door to wake me up for school. What on earth had happened? I was supposed to be dead, supposed to be free of all the madness that had been haunting me for years. I sat up and immediately retched. I ran to the bathroom just in time to vomit and was disgusted to see that it was a green liquid. That, I imagined, was the after effect of the energy drink I had taken all the pills with. My mother had heard me throwing up and came in to investigate. It had been years since I had thrown up and it was obviously an indicator that all was not right with me. After a lot of questions and seeing the worry in her eyes I confessed to the overdose I had taken. Panic struck her face and she stared at me for a minute before saying we needed to go to the hospital. The rest is an ordeal best not thought about. My parents were disappointed in me, I was disappointed in me and the Drs were unimpressed with me. I was declared medically fit to go home after staying the night and despite being told I was still a danger to myself I was allowed to go home.
Where do you go after a failed attempt on your life? There is no consoling the survival afterwards. I was devastated, deeply ashamed and disappointed. I had been so sure. Even now, years after the fact, I regret that it hadn’t all ended that February evening.