When it happened to me I was a teenager, a human being with no human rights. I wasn't even trying to kill myself, I was just trying to sleep, so I took a total of <edit moderator total eclipse method> and laid down. My dad freaked when he called for me from the door and I didn't respond and called paramedics, they slapped me around till I was totally awake and lucid, then strapped me to a gurney, even though I wasn't fighting them. When we got to the hospital the doctor asked what I had taken, they said their best guess was almost a full bottle, what a joke. They pumped me full of charcoal and jabbed a needle in my thigh. I don't know what they gave me, but it gave me vivid, scary dreams. When I woke I was in white scrubs in a white room without windows, all alone. I was so scared. No one had spoken to me directly at this point and I had no idea what was happening to me. I remember going to the door of the little room and knocking on it, asking if anyone was there. Next thing I knew there was nurses flying into the room, another needle in my thigh, more scary dreams. This went on for God knows how many days, then finally a doctor came to see me. He asked me some questions, stupid things all about my sex life, which I didn't have at the time, and drugs, which I hadn't even tried at that point, not once. From this list of questions it was determined at age 13 that I was bipolar. They tried me on dozens of pill cocktails, everything made me crazy, like break a chair over your back and burst into tears crazy. The lithium and depicote was the worst, it made me shaky and numb, I felt nothing; no anger, no sadness, no joy, no hope, no love... no nothing. Apparently that's how you are supposed to feel, because that's what they kept me on for 3 years, till I was emancipated and sought out a new doctor. He told me that I was not bipolar, that there were no signs of it at all before the meds started. He said reading over my history told him I was depressed and suffering from insomnia as a result, the drugs had never been needed, but because I was on them for so long I had suffered damage. 3 years of hell, 3 years of nothingness. When I finally began to feel again the only thing I was able to feel was anger and resentment. To this day I have not been able to forgive my dad for what he let them do to me. They ruined me and now I realize that medication could actually help me with my depression, I refuse to take it for fear I would stop feeling all together... I'd rather feel bad than feel nothing at all, at least now I know I am alive. I remember thinking as a teenager and maybe I wasn't actually here, or maybe I was trapped in a coma; because nothing felt real.