The Lion's Pride vol. 2 (Jun. 2014) | Page 18

11 was going on, I felt utterly hopeless, useless and worthless. There was no purpose for me and nothing worth looking forward to. No one was there to talk to me, comfort me. My inspiration to live had drained out. The love I used to feel from my family, friends, and school was depleted and replaced with anger and resentment. I became very depressed. I felt like a failure. I could not hold myself together. Late one night, I decided it was time to end my suffering. I sneaked downstairs and swallowed handfuls of pills, then crawled back into bed and closed my eyes for what I thought would be the last time. I did not bother to write a goodbye letter, for I thought it pointless to write a note to people who did not care. The next morning, I opened my eyes to find myself still stuck in life. I sluggishly got myself up and attempted to prepare for school, unable to formulate any thoughts about the failed suicide attempt. My mom noticed something was wrong and took me to the emergency room, an experience I scarcely remember now. The doctors took me to the intensive care unit and hooked me up to monitors; they stuck an IV in me and gave me medications to keep my heart beating—for I was in heart block, a medical condition referring