Hi. I'm new here. My name is Lisa Marie. I'm 16 years old and a junior in high school. I tried to kill myself on October 25, 2006. I took x pills at 11 PM. I woke up at about 2:30 AM the next morning and I felt awful. I kept throwing up water (I had drank a lot of water the night before). At 3 AM I took x more pills. Then, I tired to fall asleep. I slept for about 15 minutes at a time, waking up for about an hour in between. I continued to throw up water, and after awhile I started to throw up blood. My sheets, the floor of my bedroom, the toilet in my bathroom, and the floor in my bathroom were all soiled. At around noon my mother woke me up. She had made me tea and toast. She had heard me throwing up during the night, and she thought I had the flu. I lay in my bed for a few minutes and contemplated what I would do next. I decided to wash my comforter and sheets. It took me about 10 minutes to get down the stairs to the washing machine. At this time my vision was blurred, I was dizzy, my ears were ringing and I could barely talk or walk. My abdomen felt like it was going to explode, and I was very, very cold. After I put my linens in the washing machine, I curled up into a ball on the couch. I considered just laying there and waiting to die (which, as the doctors told me later, would have happened shortly). I also considered telling my mother what I had done. I chose the latter option. I struggled, but managed to say the words, "Pen" and "Paper." I then wrote a note to my mom explaining what I had done. Then a ambulance came and took me to a hospital nearby. I don't remember much about this experience. I know they started to give me charcoal, but immediately stopped because it had been too long for it to have an affect. They gave me another medicine instead. A priest came to visit me. I am not religious, but my parents are. After about five hours at this hospital I was taken to another hospital 45 minutes away. Immediately after I arrived they decided I had to be taken to a third hospital, because they believed I would need a liver transplant. It took a few hours for them to arrange transportation for me. As I was leaving all of the doctors and nurses I had said "good bye" to me. They did not think I'd survive the 2 and a half hour ambulance ride to the other hospital. I did make it. I remained there for about five days, during which time my liver did not fail. Afterwards I was sent to the adolescent psychiatric unit across the street from this hospital. I was there for eight days. Now, about a month later, I considering doing it all over again. I love life, but not my own. I hate admit it, but I am ungrateful.