I don't know how it started. It could've started when I passed out in PE. Or possibly when I snuck the sleeping pills into my locker at the beginning of the year and took them one morning. I took five pills, because I thought it would be enough to end it all. I just ended up falling asleep for a really long time. FUCK. When the doctors took tests, they found out my meds were making me go all crazy, like they were turning my brains to shit. I want to say I had a reason for suicide. But I didn't really have one. I was bored and attention hungry. It makes me sound shallow, which I might be, but it is at least the truth. What is our aversion to the pasty, horrifying truth? Isn't it better than a lie that has been covered in sugar past the point of recognition? Now, let's backtrack to why I got a hold of meds. The suicidal thoughts kept me up for nights, so I got sleeping pills to treat what the doctor thought was insomnia. Was it ironic? Hellz yes. When I saw the pills my parents brought, I had a moment of clarity. I think last year was when I was done being dramatic. My grades sort of sucked, my parents got after me for them, so I was all, "Fuck this." I did stupid, emo things. But I am not one of THOSE emo kids. I would kill myself if I were, which is funny upon reflection. Right? Anyway, my parents noticed, put me on antidepressants and took away all the sleeping pills they could find (I hid some in a hollow book though). I started making friends, but some people still avoided me because they knew how depressed I used to be. They acted like extreme sorrow is some kind of fucking pathogen. It is not. Then, before winter break started, I found the sleeping pills I had snuck into school while cleaning out my locker. And like a monster wave, the sadness swept me off my feet. All the depression I had suffered from returned tenfold, so I took five pills, popped them into my mouth, and got ready to change for PE. It was no surprise when I was running and felt a little drowsy. And when we were playing soccer and I collapsed, I was beginning to chicken out, but not really. It was kind of a rush, and enjoyable, if suicide attempts can be fun. My parents found out, so I have been sentenced to a week of suspension for having drugs, two weeks of counseling when I get back, and, my parents' idea, four weeks of daily psychologist appointments with a guy named Dr. Birch. I decided to call him Dr. Bitch, because without a doubt, he is deserving of that name.
Today, I got a fucking plant. My parents want me to take care of it so that I can learn responsibility and focus on life rather than death. It was kind of fun to take care of something. The plant has weird leaves though. They seem familiar, like I've seen them at school or something, but probably not. I mean, who brings a fucking plant to school?
Two things today. First, it is my first day of suspension. Second, I have my appointment with Dr. Bitch. That appointment, my first one with a shrink, was really fun actually. My parents dropped me off at a bookstore within walking distance of the doctor's office. I wandered around for an hour, and walked over to the doctor. I checked in with the receptionist, and went to the bathroom. Maybe that day had been rough, seeing how it was the first day of my suspension. Anyway, I locked myself in the bathroom, and probably scared my psychologist. He came out to tell me he was ready, but the receptionist pointed to the bathroom. He knocked on the door and said, "Are you ready? We don't even have to talk." I found it creepy that he was checking on me in the bathroom, but I answered his question: "No. I don't really want to leave right now. Go see another one of your crazy-ass patients, because you are a fuckerish fucker hired by fuckers too busy fucking to give a shit." I didn't have a plan, originally, but I eventually found one when I saw the huge window hidden by curtains. I thought I could probably open it and escape. So I started to swear. A lot. I said every swear word I could possibly think of, and then started mixing them together. I yelled them. I had probably confirmed his suspicion that I was crazy. But my yelling blocked out the sound of me opening the window, leaping onto the toilet, and climbing out. Then I went back to the bookstore and bought a coffee to soothe my vocal cords.