I was still breathing. After all of my efforts to stop it, it was still happening. Why was I so stupid that I couldn’t do something easy? The emotional pain hurt more than the physical pain. I was beginning to doubt the fact that I would die, but I didn’t know how I would live with this.
I would be seen as a monster. Everyone would disown me. I would be hated. Well, I would be hated more than I already was. How would I face the world? My heart was racing. How could I ever go on?
My overdose would take my life, either way. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t die. And I wouldn’t be living if I did die.
I tried to stop thinking about everything, and just be in peace. I would lie there and watch movies and shows for the majority of the day. I would continue to ignore all of the pointless questions that everyone threw at me.
I still didn’t want to answer them, even if I was going to live. I would just keep to myself as I had in the past. I didn’t want help. I didn’t need help.
They tried to make me eat and drink, but just the smell of food made my stomach turn. I felt numb. I wasn’t listening to anyone, and barely responding. I was so drugged up that I couldn’t feel anything properly. The fluids pumped through my once slit veins, and around my body.
They did not know about the previous self harm or overdoses. I hadn’t told them anything. I didn’t want them to be more ashamed of me than they already were. Look at what I had done to my parents. I brought shame and hatred towards my family.
Everyone would leave us because of me. I had once again taken something so beautiful and destroyed it. That was my talent. Instead of turning everything to gold when I touched it, I wrecked it. I ruined everything. I was a monster.
My mind was spinning when the doctor came back in. I again couldn’t listen to him completely because I was so distracted by my endless thoughts. He had said that my liver enzymes were getting higher and higher. I had heard something about a liver transplant.
That broke me. I couldn’t live with myself if I had to get someone else’s liver because of some stupid thing I did. There were people out there waiting for a liver because their’s isn’t functioning, and it’s not because they did something dumb like me.
They couldn’t control the fact that their liver was failing, but I could. I was a horrible person, taking things from the needy and innocent. Look at this mess I had created! It all could have been avoided if I was smart enough to succeed in killing myself.
Oh well. It’s too late to go back.