I was 11 years old the first time I thought about killing myself.
Full of hopelessness, I tip toed into the kitchen and brought the bottle of advil to my room. I had heard of people overdosing on pills. Due to my innocence, Advil were the only pills I knew about. So I swallowed a handle of them hoping for the best.
The best being death.
But it doesn't come.
Glancing into the bottle, there's only 4 pills left.
How many did those people take?
Thinking surely I'd be in trouble if I finished off the Advil and it didn't work, I'd have to explain this little event to my mom. I certainly did not want that.
Disappointed to still be alive, I continue on.
Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a very long battle.
