Attempt 1,
7th grade.
I was ridiculed for self harming,
Since my "cuts weren't even deep."

Attempt 2,
8th grade.
I tried swallowing everything that said "Do not eat"
Hoping I'd lose consciousness.

Attempt 3,
Still 8th grade.
You made me feel like whatever you did was okay; it wasn't.
To this day, I continuously beat myself over it.

Attempt 4,
9th grade.
I tried looking up harmful effects of overdosing on iron,
But it only left me with scarred intestines.

Attempt 5,
10th grade.
I tried to hang myself, hoping I'll succeed.
My mom came home.

Attempt n.
I tried cutting myself, hoping I'll bleed to death.
I tried asking for help, but I realized I was just doing it for attention.
Maybe this sadness isn't real, they said, and I believed them.

Attempt x.
In between these mentioned attempts,
There were still too many attempts unnamed.
But who cares?

Attempt y.
Today.
I tried killing myself again today.
But maybe if I did, will my classmates joke about me hanging myself?

I don't want that.

Maybe my depression and never-ending self hate aren't real.
Maybe I'm just assuming I have depression.
Maybe I'm just overreacting.
Maybe I should end my embarrassing self.

I'm sorry.