I was 17. Things weren't going very well. I lost my girlfriend--we broke up violently, seething with hatred. After only a few days, I missed her a lot, but I was smart enough to know it was over at that point, so I didn't pursue her. I was in college, but I was only coasting, not really caring how I was doing. My father's drinking was starting to get out of control and affected the family. One night I was feeling awful, and I reached the point of despair and hopelessness. I missed my ex horribly, and she had already replaced me with someone else. I didn't see any possible future for myself. So I reached for a bottle of xxxxxxxxxxx. I intended to take more, but somehow, taking just those ten calmed me down. I calmly called my psychiatrist and therapist and told them both what I had done. I went through the whole ER routine, getting my stomach emptied and all that, then they sent me home without being hospitalized, with my attempt probably being considered parasuicide. It's strange. I only xxxxxxxxxx. But I'm sure that the instant I made the decision to overdose, I intended to take everything I had. I just didn't go through with it-xxxxxxxx enough to calm me down. The impulse had faded. It's worth noting that I wish I had gone through with the attempt into the realm of something potentially dangerous. To be honest, I wish I had succeeded. Things got complicated with my ex, who I haven't spoken to in two years. I can't seem to get over her, probably because we were childhood friends, too. We both went through a traumatic experience with each other, so it seems natural that we'd at least be friends. My grades got better, and I even won a few awards for academics and recreational things. My life must have looked great from the outside. I was an amateur poker player making good money on the side, I had the resources I needed, I was in a secure place. I won a poetry prize and was congratulated in front of an audience and handed a check for my winning piece. But I felt empty and sick. Right now, I feel like that, too. I just don't care about anything. There's no future I want. I just want everyone and everything to go away. That's how things are right now. I don't know what's going to happen now. But I guess the bottom line is just that I tried weakly and failed. I was hospitalized later, and I've had various treatments for depression, but I've only partially responded. I still suffer from nightmares, insomnia, occasional suicidal feelings and impulses, and episodes of depression that cause me to withdraw. If I try again, I know what I'm going to do, and the method's lethality is reliable. But for now...I'm just not desperate enough to try anything. My world has gotten a lot smaller. I only take part-time school and work on the side, and sometimes I submit poetry to publishers. But I live a very quiet life. In any case, I'm fine for now. I just hope things work out.