I should have died trying

         Matt Hartman once said, “Suicide is the remedy of pain,” and for me, this couldn't be more accurate. I was sixteen, and in more 'pain' than I thought anyone could understand. I simply couldn't continue feeling so miserable, so I took the coward's way out. On the night of February 24, 2009, I attempted to commit suicide. I gave up on my future and everything I had ever known. I stopped caring. I had never wanted anything more than in that moment; I wanted to die.
         The week prior to my self-destruction was hell. I had lost my best friend, my boyfriend, and I had been told that there was no chance that I could pass biology. I felt like everyone had abandoned me. With everything stripped away from me, I had no comfort, and felt totally exposed to the world.
         I came home after my very stressful week to find my house void of all human life. My oh so loving parents had went out of town without telling me – again. I couldn't handle being alone anymore. I guess this was the last straw. Something in me snapped. I lost all desire to keep going.
         I grabbed a bottle of aspirin out of the medicine cabinet and poured them across the counter. I began consuming them rapidly, crushing them between my teeth so hard it hurt. Before I had realized what I was doing, they were gone. An entire bottle, now making it's way to my stomach. I lay on the floor sobbing, and waiting for death to come.
         Thirty minutes later I was still on the floor, whimpering. I was completely numb, but my breathing was steady. In and out, slowly, carefully. But my heart was pounding. I could feel it beating  in my chest, my head, my ears. I was on a critical level. Then why wasn't I dead yet? I didn't want to wait any longer. I wanted it over, immediately.
         Stumbling into the kitchen I managed to find a knife. I drug the blade across my wrist, just below the palm. Blood flowed so easily, but it wasn't enough. I pulled the blade again further down my arm, this time with more pressure. Again and again I moved the blade across my wrist watching my own blood stream out. I knew this was the end. I knew that I couldn't possibly loose this much blood and still live. I began to cry again, but this time I was happy. Then laughter, crazed and manacle. I had never felt so free in my entire life.
         Suddenly, there was a gentle knock on the door. My heart stopped and fell through the floor. Before I could answer the door, it opened. In the threshold stood my, now, ex-boyfriend. It took him a minute to process the scene, and by the time he realized what was going on, I passed out. The aspirin and the loss of blood had caught up to me.
         When I came to I was in the hospital. Tubes and needles pricking into my skin from all angles. I could hear beeping and whirring above my head. My first thought was that I was in hell. A perpetual state of the life I feigned on earth. But then I felt. I felt the pain, I felt regret, I felt worse than I did before. And then, I felt a squeeze. I looked up to see my parents, my ex-boyfriend, and even my ex-best friend surrounding me. I couldn't look at them. I was too ashamed. I knew that I had hurt them worse than they had hurt me, I had hurt them worse than I had hurt myself. Again, the feeling of not wanting to be alive surged through me. I had done everything so wrong, I just wanted a chance to fix it. I wanted a chance to try again.
         Before I could get that chance though, I was forced into a mental rehabilitation center owned by the hospital. Since I wasn't 21 I had no say in whether I wanted to go or not. I had to spend four weeks in the loony bin because I messed up. Because I failed at death. I thought instead of punishing me, they should take me out for ice-cream and give me a trophy for surviving suicide, but they had other plans. I didn't want to be locked away from everything for four weeks. I wanted to go home and go on with my life. I wanted to try again in the comfort of my house. But at sixteen, my wants didn't matter. Only the wants of everyone around me were important.
         So I went. I slept for the first few days, but I wasn't allowed blankets, or a pillow, or even shoes with shoe laces. They were too dangerous for a patient of my status. When I started complaining about being cold the nurse told me I had to earn these small luxuries. The only way to earn things in a mental facility is to be completely sane. So I went to group, I went to my therapy sessions, I watched T.V. in the commons, I even ate meals with everyone else. Within three days the nurses thought I was sane enough to have sheets, and a blanket.
         I had also met people like me. Kids just trying to deal with their emotions in the worst way possible. I began to understand that I wasn't the only one who had a bad day or two. I wasn't the only one suffering. On my ward I wasn't even considered weird. In less than four weeks I had realized that my problems were petty and that I can do better than suicide.
         Going back to school was the hardest thing. Everyone saw me differently, and I lost a lot of my friends over it. They thought I was a freak, but it didn't faze me because I knew differently. I did make a lot of new friends though. People who went through the same thing, people who I could relate to. Things at home got better too, my parents and I started communicating like a healthy family, instead of typed notes stuck to the fridge. We talked every night over dinner and then we watched T.V. together. We became closer. In the end I even managed to pass biology with a  C. My final six weeks grade was a 201 which I was told was impossible. But I did it.
         Since the incident I've learned to deal with things in a healthy way. I don't let my emotions control my actions anymore. I talk things out and find other things to occupy my time. In a way, not succeeding at suicide was the best thing that's ever happened to me. I learned a lot from a mistake. I feel lucky to be alive, lucky to have everything I have, and lucky to know now what most people only think they know; Life is good.