BabyBrownEyes

Okay, so I am alive!

Last night was insane. Obviously, I did not die. I cannot
say that I am happy about that or that I will not try to do
it again. I woke up this morning and felt so
disappointed. I wasn't supposed to wake up. I had all the
symptoms of fatal overdose...what went wrong? I remember
lying in bed, my breath getting rapid, my chest hurting, my
hands shaking.....I cried. Not because I was scared, but
because it was such a shame. I pictured everyone's faces
when they announced my death. I saw my brother, crying
because it was all his fault. Never once did I want to
undo it, never once did I regret popping the pills. I was
totally content teetering precariously on my little perch
between life and death, knowing that sometime that night, I
would slip off and land with a soft thud on the side that
they say you don't want to be in. I want to be there.
Death doesn't scare me like it used to. I see it as an
ally, a friend. I remember being terrified of it as a
little girl, and now it's almost sickening that I can
embrace it and even welcome it. I told Rusty today that I
am one of those people who is destined to kill themselves.
I want to be, in a twisted way, the girl that people look
at in the old yearbooks and say, "Oh, thats the girl who
killed herself." It's sick, I know. People never take me
seriously because I bounce back from everything in a matter
of minutes. It sounds like a good thing, but sometimes I
just want someone to worry about me. Maybe by killing
myself, I could bring people to that final realization that
I am(was) not as happy as I seem(ed). They can't know that
while I am alive and I want everyone to know! They don't
look at me and think, "Oh, now, she's depressed, I should
be nice to her." They brush me off as a happy-go-lucky,
carefree person who can make it through my problems, if I
have any. I hate that.