I had originally registered on this forum to express how extremely depressed and suicidal I was after a terrible breakup. The breakup happened last tuesday I thought I was starting to do okay, until thursday. At around 3pm I was looking for something in my bedside stand drawer and stumbled upon a bottle full of <mod edit>(a pretty safe drug) that I used to take last year for my ADD. As soon as I saw the bottle I thought to myself 'oh no...' while another part of me though 'jackpot!' Without thinking I took the bottle and got some water and proceeded to take approximately <mod edit-gentlelady-methods>. After my last swallow I had finally realized what I had done and tried to throw them up, but they made a sort of concrete barrier in my stomach. I then called my mom crying my eyes out and told her that I fucked up big time and that I need help. She told me to keep trying to throw them up but it just wasn't happening. She rushed home and picked me up and took me to the closest ER. We got to the ER and I started feeling a strong pain in my abdomen that just kept getting worse and worse. They hooked me up to the EKG and then I started violently throwing up what seemed like battery acid. They never charcoaled me or anything. I then talked to a shrink and I voluntarily signed myself up to move up to the behavioral unit. If I would've only known what I was about to get myself into I would not have signed those papers. I got up to the psych ward at around lights out and the nurse showed me around and briefed me on what I would be doing day by day. It turned out to be not as bad as I thought it would be, but it still felt like hell. It was basically prison with nurses instead guards. I ended up sharing a room with a guy who used to date my mom back in high school and who also used to party with my dad, go figure ha. We instantly became great friends and without him I would've been in that place for a lot longer. I felt fine during the day when around with those I made friends with but when it came time to go to bed I had severe panic attacks and had to lock myself in the bathroom and turn the shower on so it would drown out the sound of me crying and trying my best not to lose control again. I finally got discharged today and it feels so good to be back at home, but I still feel extremely anxious, and tomorrow I'm going to have a very long talk with my ex and try and redeem myself in any way I can. The only way I'm going to get better is if she takes me back. I'm going to be living with her regardless of whether or not she takes me back, she wants me there anyway. But the moral of this story is that I have learned from this mistake, I saw the look on my parents faces when I was in the ER and I never want to see them like that ever again. I hit rock bottom, so there's nowhere to go but forward from here.