The 19th of November wasn't going to be an ordinary day. I got up early, and caught the 7:30 bus, the first time about 3months. I had to go to the supermarket, but still be to school on time. I brought some pills and continued on the journey to school. I took them when I was alone, although not all of them - I started gagging on them before I was finished. I then returned to my 'friends' and pretended like everything was fine - and it was until I started throwing up walking to form, although they were stupid and didn't realize why I was throwing up a white powder, they just thought it was cool I was projectile vomiting. Somehow, I choose the day I had an appointment with my school counselor to do it. So at 9AM. I was sitting in his room, apologizing in advance if I vomited. He asked "why I would be vomiting" I just told him I don't know. I wasn't telling anyone - No one was going to know, I was going to go through with his. Anyway, some of the girls who had seen me throw up who are also sorta friends I suppose came back about 5 minutes later and said they needed to speak to my counselor and it was important. When he came back in he started questioning me, he had somehow found out I'd overdosed. Finally I caved and said yes I had but who cares. He rung the office and told them to ring an ambulance - the office lady thought he was kidding. I ended up throwing up in the garden outside our office while yelling like crazy at the school counselor to give me water cause the vomit was also coming out of my nose. Anyway. Fast forward to the hospital. After about 3hours of vomiting they put a drip in my arm - I'm terrified of needles. They stuffed that up, took three attempts to get blood. The came back petrified that I'd somehow only just managed to take below the maximum dosage that they can treat with some antidote stuff. I was only disappointed I hadn't take all the pills. I got admitted. Had some stupid nurse try to help me go to the toilet. And then after the antidote had apparently worked - Which annoyed me to no end I was transferred to the oh so not wonderful loony bin. Although it was a children's hospital so it wasn't really bad, and most of the girls were there for various OD's or other attempted suicide attempts. One for an eating disorder, and one was just crazy. But this lead to a further downward spiral. I spent the first three days - which was Friday/Saturday/Sunday not eating, not talking to anyone, not getting off my bed. I was in the foulest mood. And got angry at anything. They wouldn't give me medication for my nausea when they were allowed to. Aholes. While I was in the psych ward my mum found out I'd been using laxatives, had been purging, had been self harming, and a heap of other stuff. In response to this I ignored her, yelled at her, and wouldn't look at her for half the time I was there - I was going more insane being there. The day the psychiatrist came to talk to me to assess me I lost it at him. I broke down, yelled stuff, told him he was fat and old. Cussed everyone, Cussed the hospital even. Needless to say, I was told I was going to 'be staying a few more days' which just set me off more. Moral off the story - I got discharged my mother took all of my razors, my laxatives, made me eat meals in front of her, tried to monitor me for purging. I haven't cut since the 18th November - I'm so desperate to start, but I'm scared what will happen if I get caught. I haven't tried suicide since, only because I'm scared of going back to that place if I fail. Which is unlikely; my plan is fool proof next time. And I'm sure as hell not happy I survived.