A month ago I was discharged from the mental hospital, a month and two weeks ago I took more pills than I could count and sent my friends a text. “I love you and thank you.” I let my best friend believe I was dead because she couldn’t get a hold of my mother, who had me hunched over the shower whilst dads fingers were down my throat. Overdosing isn’t like it is in the movies, it isn’t peaceful, it isn’t calm. It’s screaming at the doctors, the nurses, the psychologists. It’s trying to rip your iv lines out and scratching at your skin like an animal. It’s attacking the people you love. It’s having your best friend finally break and cry alone in the waiting room. It’s putting up a fight and being injected with chemicals to get you to sleep. It’s not remembering why you took the pills and therefore not having a valid apology. It’s not remembering the first two or three days and only hearing stories that shock even yourself. It’s still missing out on bits here and there and crying yourself to sleep. It’s being pumped full of medication and feeling like a lost version of yourself. It’s losing yourself and never finding yourself again.
if you cant handle me at my worst then leave because i dont have a best im always awful