At the age of 13, I felt what it was like to try to overdose, this was my first time... I started finding pills lying around the house when I first began cutting my arms and other parts of my body at the age of 11. 13, is when it all started. I already experienced writing my suicide notes and letters. At the age of 13, I knew how to fake being okay. I had my first counselor when I was about 11-12. First real therapist at 14.
I knew what it felt like to slowly give away. I knew what death was because I've touched it and I promise, my soul has never felt that feeling before; the appeal of wanting to be 6ft underground. I've never felt the tragedy of wanting it more and more as I felt less. So many times where I thought someone was going to at least talk me out of it. I never received the help I wanted. Even times when I reached out for help. It didn't help but make me feel worse.
The high felt so peaceful. It was pretty nice when it lasted. My body weaken, and I weighed differently. There was no more gravity left in my flesh. I never thought darkness can be so comforting and so refreshing. I thought to myself that my destiny has been answered. I laid there for hours gagging on the taste of pills and the foam that was gushing out of my mouth.
I thought and felt like I died, the hallucination those fucking pills gave me... I thought someone cared, someone noticed that I haven't been myself in so long. I stop going out as much even school, even kickin' it with the homies at the time. I spent a lot of time in my room triggering my own emotions and contemplating suicide. Who knew it was death that I desired.
When I turned 15, I was given antidepressants to maintain my mentality and emotions. I knew I'd crave them more if I were to run out and forget to refill them. Eventually, I did and ended up taking Ecstasy not knowing what was. I felt numb and it made me feel even crazier at the time than what I already felt. I spent time in the emergency room with my moms sperm donor. My father. I seen a mental patient trying to escape the hospital. It triggered my anxiety even more: all I could think to myself at the time is I'm going to end up like that, too. With no friends or family to ever visit me, sitting in pjs all day, seeing 4 white walls closing in on me.
I was terrified of being locked up in closed spaces. I could've died that day, my heart rate was higher than a normal persons. Why didn't I? I saw the look on my dad's face as if he regretted not reaching out or getting to know me as a person. There were wires all over my body to relax my nerves and the blood flow.
What happens when someone dies? The world goes on, people move on. People will still live on and just keep moving. At the age of 16, I already gave up the attachments of other people. I'm 17 now, I want to touch my old desires like I once did at the age of 13. I want to leave, disappear from this place I call home. From this corrupted world.