A week ago I tried to write a post on here after, which was also the week after my first and as yet, only suicide attempt. But the words wouldn't come out right, I just wrote a hateful essay on the world and all of its errors. I didn't want to post something so hateful, which blamed everyone but myself, just because I was angry that I failed killing myself. It's so hard to be 20 years old and still live in your parents' house, because you're too depressed or suffer from such bad bouts of anxiety that you had to drop out of college, you can't go to university and you certainly can't hold down a job. It's so hard living each day after an overdose in your childhood bedroom, asking yourself frequently "where did it all go so wrong?" and wondering if you were just born this way, or if perhaps it was underlying until a bad relationship tipped it. I know my parents care about me, but my mother is two faced and overbearing at the best of times and I just want to get the hell out of this house and get my own apartment somewhere. But, I can't cope or function normally enough to get a job to pay rent, so it isn't a reality. But I can't stand it, I'm an adult trapped in a house where I'm treated like a child and blamed for every bad thing, because of my mental illness. I sometimes feel like I'm going to die in this house. I tried to kill myself on pancake day, or, Shrove Tuesday. I had a huge argument with my mother where she continuously interrupted me and then walked away while I was trying to correct her wrong interpretation of something I had said. I stomped upstairs and cried for a while in my bedroom, feeling helpless. And then I started getting angry and worrying about how much longer I could stand being in such a toxic and negative environment. I started talking myself into feeling worthless, my best friend had started uni in September and hadn't been responding much to texts, nor calls, or ever being online on Facebook. I told myself he had built a new life with new people and since I have a panic attack every time I get on a train, I'd barely see him again. He certainly doesn't make any effort to see or contact me, so I do suppose sadly that this part is true. A month prior I had been beaten up in a pub by some people who had bullied me in school years before. It came out of the blue, I had been doing SO much better and it all just came crashing down again, because I feel like I can't escape my own history in this village. You would think four years after leaving school people would have matured enough, but apparently not. It all just built up in my mind until I couldn't even count all the horrible things that had happened to me, and I started hyperventilating. Normally when I have panic attacks they don't last TOO long, at least I can calm down after my fingers go tingly, but this one seemed to last forever and I thought I was going to die. And when I thought that, I felt a lot of relief, because it meant I wouldn't have to wake up every day wondering if something bad was going to happen or if I was going to cry for an hour. So, I opened my nightstand drawer and in a frenzied state I began popping all and every kind of pill I could find. It was like it wasn't even me, it feels like someone else did it while I watched. I'm completely dettached from that period of about five minutes where I took an overdose. After I finished swallowing I cried for a while and then I started hallucinating and feeling sick, but I was myself again. My Dad overheard me panicking and crying and came in to hug me. Then I told him what I did and we ended up in the hospital. Taking an overdose is horrible. I wouldn't recommend it. I was so so ill that night, even though I don't remember a lot, I do remember struggling to vomit into the cardboard containers in hospital, because I wasn't able to keep my eyes open. After a while my Dad had to help me guide my head, because I had random jerking in my arms and legs and I couldn't sit still, plus my balance was so poor I had to hold onto him, even though I was sat on a chair in the corner. I feel so ashamed about that. My Dad and I don't talk very much, and all of a sudden, a huge outburst of emotions comes from his daughter who he thought was reasonably stable until now. It was his birthday today and I had a doctors appointment, 2 weeks after the overdose (soon as I can get a follow up with my GP on the NHS; crazy.) so he came with me. He didn't talk very much, but just him being there made me feel better. I feel guilty that his birthday was clouded by my issues though. He deserves better than this. The memories of Pancake Day are a bit hazy and there are blacked out bits, but another vignette of time I recall was a nurse shouting at me as she tried to do an ECG on me, but I kept feeling like I was going to fall off the bed as I was so dizzy, so kept moving to steady myself, as well as the jerking of my limbs. Then they tried to take my blood about 8 times, to see what the levels of toxicity in my system were, but it didn't work. They tried on both arms and on the backs of my hands but no blood would come out. One guy pinched really hard (which hurt a lot!) and then they managed to get a dribble. I don't know why this was though. Maybe what I took caused my blood pressure to become too low for withdrawals? My arms are still bruised now, 2 weeks later, because they tried so many times that night. My Dad had to leave and left me a hospital "cheese sandwich" which was basically cardboard and gruel, which promptly ended up on the floor after I regurgitated it. Then everything is black and I remember waking up in front of two double doors with a clock above. I looked to the floor and the vomit was gone, no doubt some poor orderly had to clean up after I had blacked out. I remember thinking "when is mum going to be here?" and literally a few seconds later I heard her heels clicking and saw her heavily made up face and it felt so surreal that she arrived the exact moment I expected her, that I thought I was hallucinating again. We made eye contact and both burst into tears. She tried to hug me, but I pushed her away, I didn't forgive her and I didn't want her to forgive me just because I was in a hospital bed. And now...I'm home and I both regret that I tried to kill myself and regret that it didn't work. There is nowhere to go from here. My parents keep saying "you'll be fine, you'll get there, it'll be okay" over and over like a mantra. They refuse to talk about the chance it won't and what to do then. I don't see myself getting better to be honest. I've been like this too long; for years. I've had my heart broken too many times, too much has happened. I won't be able to get married and have kids like I always wanted. I'm trying to take it day by day, so that I'll continue to live for the sake of my close friends. But, two years of doing that have passed and I'm worse than I ever was and taking it day by day isn't living. It's surviving. And I want to LIVE. And if I can't do that, then I want to die. I can't think of the future without crying, because I have wasted two years of my life (although I have been depressed since about 13) and it's hard to see my brother at a prestigious university, and my friends at unis/getting on with their lives and know that I will never have that. It was too hard to go to parties and try and answer the question "so what have you been up to since college?" without blurting out "nothing!". So I just lie. And then guilt ensues later. I told my supposed best friend that I mentioned above about my suicide attempt, because he made a point of wanting to Skype after I mentioned via text I had been in the hospital (he had wanted me to come to town to help him with his homework, so I had to explain a bit why I couldn't) . And he didn't even seem to care. He just told me that he wasn't really surprised and nothing I do really shocks him. He was even smiling when he said it. And then he continued to talk normally at me for about half an hour, before I couldn't hold it in anymore and I said "I feel like you don't care! You never text me back, you never call me back or respond to my messages. You only text me when you want something or if it's convenient for you. You have a list of priorities and I'm not on it!" and he said he didn't understand what I wanted him to do. Ugh. His best friend told him they tried to kill themself and he just shrugs his shoulders and smiles? I know people have different ways of processing information but he reacted as if it wasn't a big deal. I hung up on him. Then he texted me, saying he's sorry I misunderstood and we're both complex people and he cares that I'm not very happy. He called the next day and I didn't pick up, and I haven't heard from him since. I don't really expect him to call or text until he wants something again. I don't think he really cares about me to be honest. His call rang a few times and then he cancelled it, as if he changed his mind. I don't think I'll tell anyone else about my suicide attempt. My family know and they act like they hate me and are ignoring me mostly now. I guess you have to lie to get through life. But who do I talk to now? I guess frustration lead to me writing all of this. If anyone reads this, thank you and please send me a message, however short. I could really use some feedback or some support right now. I feel so isolated in my own home. The only person who loves me is my cat I think. I'd really like a message of hope, since I'm not sure how much longer I can soldier on. I'm sorry if this is triggering for anyone and I'm sorry I wrote so much. It's my way of coming to terms with my overdose I think, and the situation at the moment. I still can't talk about it in person. Also through writing can I confront my feelings. I'm normally the supportive or positive role on SF, but right now, I need a shoulder. Love, Hayley.