The Attempt

Written by Gianna Buelow
TW: overdose, death, and suicide

You can hear the last fading drops of water drip,

Drip,

Dripping

from the shower.

The tears fall from your face as you cry,

Cry,

Crying

for the twentieth time this night.

Your thoughts still spin,

Spin,

Spinning

as you fail to self console.

Now your heart will lose,

Lose,

Losing,

as your depression takes control.

You can no longer stop yourself as you break,

Break,

Breaking

Breaking.

Wanting nothing but to scream at

whatever has control over this universe

for torturing you like this.

Telling yourself it’s not bad enough,

To feel that way,

To think that way,

‘You’re just being dramatic’

your thoughts say.

The bottle is close,

Too close,

Too easy.

‘Don’t think that, you can’t do that, not to your family, not to your friends,’

‘But do they even care, would they even miss you, they don’t want or need you,’

The other voice rings in your head,

Screaming,

Crying,

Begging,

for it to end.

You stare in the mirror as you desperately try to fight

back the thoughts that’s begging for it to end.

You lose.

The bottle is close,

Too close,

And too easy.

‘It could end,’

‘There would be nothing left

The thoughts

The feelings

The emotions

The urges

The actions

The regret

The hurt

The pain

The fight

The endless effort to appease all the people that will never like you anyways

It would all end…

The pills slip down your throat with a simple sip of water,

The empty bottle is discarded in the sink,

Dropped as you have your own visceral reaction to what you just did.

What did you just do?

How could you have done this?

What is wrong with you?

You’re supposed to be perfect.

You’re supposed to be perfect!

You were supposed to be perfect.

---

I do regret it,

     but not for the reasons you’d think.

I regret it for hurting those I love,

          but not for hurting me.

I know what I did was wrong,

               but I can’t help that it felt so right.

Maybe I miss who I was before all of this was alright.

But a healed person doesn’t miss the pain;

                    doesn’t beg for worse to happen,

instead of begging for it to go away.

A healed person is better than me,

                         because I’m still begging for me to stay.

---

I’m sorry

I’m so so so sorry

I’m sorry for taking those pills

  I’m sorry I couldn’t throw up

    I’m sorry for putting us in that hospital bed

I’m sorry I still remember our Dad’s yells when he saw the bottle

  I’m sorry I still remember our Stepmom telling me it’s okay

    I’m sorry I still remember the drive to the hospital

      I’m sorry I still remember everything in the hospital

        I’m sorry I can’t get it out of my head

          I’m sorry I can’t forget

I’m sorry I thought there was no other way

  I’m sorry that sometimes I still think that way

I’m sorry for causing the flashbacks

  I’m sorry that house can’t feel like home anymore

Baby, I’m sorry

  Please forgive me

Baby, I need your love, not your hate

  Please understand what I did

Baby, I thought it was for the better

  Please forgive me

    Please remember

Baby, it’s okay,

I forgive you.

I always forgave you.