That night, I acted like I had finally “snapped out of my depression”. I told my parents all the wonderful lies and successfully convinced my mom to sleep in her own room. Right before bedtime, I locked myself in the bathroom, poured out all of the pills and shoveled them down at once. I choked. I spat out a mouthful and swallowed them in three smaller lots. Suddenly I regretted everything, just like that night on the balcony. The last sliver of sanity was struggling to keep me alive. I then thrust my fingers down my throat to retrieve the pills. I vomited at least ten pills into the toilet. They were wrapped with thin strings of blood. Should I call for help? It’s still not too late to change my mind . . . The last thing I remembered was walking back to my room, the moment I laid my body down, I was out of this world . . .
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