the attempt.

The day I tried to die was a day I probably will not be able to scrub from my memory for the rest of my life. 13 pills in under 15 minutes, and over 24 hours of IV's hooked up to me, and trauma that I will forever have to deal with. The look of my friend who had come to my house and called the police will forever kill me. Fear, hurt, sadness, and utter disbelief. It haunts me.

Three days in a mental hospital, and years to go of making up for my actions. All because everything got too much. Where do I go from here? I get the treatment I need, get better, now what? I sit in the overwhelming regret of scaring my grandma, traumatizing my best friend, and hurting everyone around me? The memories follow me around like my shadow on a cloudy summer evening, when the sun is perfectly angled so I can see every feature of my body outlined in the pavement below my feet.

I can only imagine what was going through my fathers head as he saw me laying in the hospital bed with IV's pierced in my skin and all sorts of other devices hooked up to me. My makeup was a mess from intense sobbing, my hair was disheveled from laying in a bed for hours, and all that covered the monitors hooked on my chest was the hospital gown and thin blanket from the bed. Thankfully, my father brought my baby blanket and my favorite stuffed animal. The valentines bear my (then) ex boyfriend had bought me. I fear that all he saw though was the little blonde baby girl who used to laugh and run around the back yard during a family cook out. He was only able to see a once happy, full of joy girl who was obsessed with Barbie dolls and Dora The Explorer, and not the seventeen year old depressed,and exhausted girl who had tried to murder her.

Should I label myself a murder? I tried to kill someone. An innocent little girl who had done no harm to even the most tragic things. I tried to murder a blonde baby girl with the biggest blue eyes, with the chubbiest cheeks and the sweetest smile. For that, I should consider myself a killer. I do not deserve to call myself a saint, although what I did shouldn't be considered all my fault, I still made an attempt to revoke the passage of life from a sweet little girl who had done nothing wrong.

I apologize to the sweet girl I tried to kill. In an attempt to kill myself, I would've killed every version of me that once was. Even the innocent, beautiful baby girl that couldn't wait to experience every little bit of life.