Last spring I attempted suicide. Sort of. After two years of general depression and four months of severe depression I found myself staring at my own eyes in the bathrooom mirror for what seemed like forever, franticly searching for a reason to drop the knive. At the last minute, I pictured my counselor of three months waiting in her office the next morning, wondering where I was. I dropped the razor blade, hung up the towl that I planned on dying on, and crawled into bed in a state of stupor. I feel kind of like a wimp, in a twisted way. I saw her the next day and she suggested hospitalization before I even told her about the previous night. I spent the next week in a hospital's metal clinic. It did absolutly nothing for me. The counselors where all stupid redneck volunteers and the staffed pyscologist was an asshole. I hope others found hospitals more beneficial than I did. I had to withrdraw from school that semester and go back home to live with my parents, which did not help. The psycologist I saw over the next summer(this past summer) helped a little bit, but pretty much I've been on my own.