I used to be so tired
Those days I often thought about my death
My fantasies involved the kitchen knife

I never had the courage to hurt myself
The attention it might bring, it scared me
The thought of people noticing me, even in death, horrified me
I thought, how embarrassing, how weak

I hardly ever cried back then
I was more angry than sad, more tired than angry
But I cried the day I tried to die

I swallowed as many pills as I could fathom
No one was home, but I still did it with an impatient pace
I was calm when I thought my final words to myself
And I sat in the corner of my kitchen floor,
Hoping that someone would find me despite not wanting to be seen
I wanted that

But

I puked it all out



Ashamed
Disgusted
Frustrated

I cried
I cleaned the mess
I went to bed

I lived.