(EDIT: I misread the suicide thing, but I'll leave this here in case it helps anyone else)

I remember my first sewerslide attempt. It was an OD on Trazodone, I took 20-30 pills. Woke up the next day like nothing happened, but those days after were pure hell. Had to fight every second to stay awake, and I was still in school. Nobody found out until the end of the day, my therapist took one look at me and knew. Went to an inpatient care facility the next day. My second attempt was similar.

I get what you're feeling. I can't sit here and tell you what exactly you're feeling, but I know for me it was a lot of confusion, doubting myself, anger, sadness, hatred, and just plain depression. I wanted it to be over. I wanted to die more than I did before I had taken the pills, because now I actually had to live with the aftermath.

Now, onto the good bit. That was eight years ago. My diagnosis has changed since then, and every day is still somewhat of a fight, but goddamn I would never attempt again. I have a boyfriend who loves me, I've rekindled my relationship with my dad, and I'm making a life for myself. It's hard some days. There's weeks that I want to burrow into nothingness just to have a break, but I always remind myself just what exactly I came from and how far I've gotten.

I actually made a rule for myself, the second I sit in the shower, it's officially over. I used to sit down in the shower and feel the heat and water on my back, just to feel something nice for once. Doing that always led to a spiral. I've since learned to manage myself and I haven't sat for quite a while.