I started to keep a little black box with a lock on it. Any time someone got a prescription of something and didn’t use it all, the pills went in my box. I called it my rainy day box for when things became unbearable. Pop a few pills of who knew what and go to sleep for a very long time or get really sick, which was usually the result. My rainy day box became my salvation. I knew if I came up with the right combination of pills, I could leave this world forever and my pain would stop. But my parents were uninsured most of my life, so my box remained mostly empty. My first suicide attempt at twelve years old was an overdose of stolen Tylenol. I took three full bottles and it probably should have killed me, but instead it made me very sick. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t kill myself so instead admitting to it, I simply said I had the flu. My mom never doubted it and I wasn’t taken to the doctor.
Part 2 | (Part 3)
