My name is Chance, for those that don't know me on here. I joined here like so many others because I was suicidal, lost and didn't know what to do. My first days on the forum were troubled to put it mildly, and I got admited to a hospital after a overdose about a week after I joined. I got admited by choice, at least the first time. While I did indeed attempt suicide, I did not get caught, I could have easily cleaned up the mess and my parents would have never known. But I didn't do that like I had so many times before. I truly wanted to change. I told my parents what I had done the next day, and after spending 8 hours in the ER, I got admitted to a mental hospital. I'm going to be honest, my first hospital visit did not help me at all. I was forced to take meds, which at the time were entirely foreign to me. After 15 days of hell, I finally got discharged. I didnt enjoy my freedom for long, for I was still entirely unstable, I was still suicidal and I had also begun self-harming as a crude coping skill. I got admited twice within a 1 month period during the late spring of my 8th grade year. Both times I had self-harmed at school in the bathroom, and nearly passed out from the injuries(trying to be vague here, no methods). During this time, I kept going from medication to medication, and eventually after my third hosptial stay, I had found a combination that worked, or the very least, stabilized me. This was 2 years ago. I can't say the last 2 years have been kind to me. Though I stayed out of trouble, I reverted to my old ways. I stopped attempting suicide, but instead I had moved to dangerous coping skills that slowly ate away at me. I had stopped self-harm, but back to overdosing. When that stopped working, I ran away in the fall of 2010 in the middle of the night, with only jeans, a sweatshirt, and a small knife I had shoplifted from a supermarket. I had tried self-harm again, and I spent 6 hours wandering the streets until I got to a college campus, rested against a wall, collasped onto the floor and just lay there, waiting for a death that wouldn't come. I was lucky it was campus police, not state police that had found me. Though I spent another 5 hours convicing my parents not to admit me, I was physically ok. After that I stopped completely. I stopped all my negative coping skills. I focused on school, getting my grades up and turning around my life. This lasted throughout my freshman year in High school. I brought my grades up from Cs,Ds, and Fs to a C average. However the summer shortly brought my brief recovery to a standstill. I started drinking for the first time, when I was just 15 years ago. I was a binge drinker, I chugged down Rum, Brandy, Vodka, anything I could get my hands on with the sole purpose of getting wasted. It didnt work of course. I got drunk, but always drank myself until I threw up and blacked out. I think because of that summer, I won't be drinking for years to come, I had some of the worse experinces in my life from drinking, and it is getting so wasted I blacked out, passed out several times and nearly drank myself to death that truely drove me to stop. My sophmore year was better but worse. I had started running, I joined Cross Country, and later Track. My grades were good, I had 6 As and a B. And I kept those grades for all two semesters. I had lost 40 pounds the year before after switching to Adderall, and with running, I maintained it. It was my new coping skill, pushing myself to my physical and mental limits. Challenging myself to do better. At first glance, this might sound positive. But I quickly realized it just another self-destructive path. I didn't care about the pain, about injuries. I ran my body to the ground several times. In school, by the time finals were nearing and school was almost over, I was a wreck. I started getting high in the last few months of school off of my meds, and it started to fuck with my body. Luckily, it was too late to cause any damage to my grades. And I ended the year with a 4.7GPA. My freshman year I had a 2.6GPA. It left its toll on me though. I am still not fully running again. After taking a post-season break, getting into running again is hard for me. And I still struggle to motivate myself. My head is a mess. I still had found no coping skills that worked. I'm falling apart. It is by sheer will that I am keeping myself together and a sub-conscious urge to survive, no matter what. It is this urge that has kept me alive after dozens of overdoses, and the years of various different abuses from drinking, drugs and self-harming. I don't know what that urge is, I can't explain it because I don' know what it is I am explaining. I'm alive, but the after effects of attempting suicide are still with me, even after over 2 years. I'm still fighting, the war is far from over, but I'm still kicking. I hope other people do the same. Keep going, fight it, things don't get better if you don't want them to get better. But trust me, in the end its worth it. I've lived through so many things over the years, some good, some bad, but all of it has made my stronger. Think about it, truely think about it before you do something that will fuck up your life of years to come. Don't make the same mistakes I made. Don't learn it the hard way when you don't have to.