It was horrific. That one Tuesday night. My mom and my step-dad were on their way to something. I can't remember what it was, but they were gone for a good five hours. Anyway. I was sitting on the kitchen floor. I was crying. I was balling my eyes out. What was wrong with me? Everything just crashed and burned. I've been holding up this bridge for so long, it had the biggest crack in it, but I was using all my strength to keep this bridge up. Suddenly, I couldn't handle it. I was weak. I let go. I collapsed. I saw the knife block, and I reached and grabbed a small knife. I just held it for awhile. I could barely see because my eyes were so blurry. I took the knife with me. I walked into my parent's bathroom and opened up the cabinet. How many bottles of pills were there? At least 15. I grabbed the three that looked like there was a lot in them. I took them. All of them. I felt okay at first. I felt like I was floating. Later, it hit me. I'll spare you gruesome details, but physically, I threw up until I couldn't move. Emotionally, I didn't care anymore. I would be gone. I remember my parents getting back and I tried to stand straight and pretend nothing was wrong. They bought it. I told my parents I was going to bed. It was around 9:00, which was sometimes normal for me. I spent the next three hours crying in the bathroom. I ran the shower and just layed there in my clothes. I blacked out. When I woke up on the bathroom floor, I felt awful. I would keep going, but there's a whole separate story to what comes next..