Better Years

The night was lonely when my pills called for me. Stock piling them, not knowing if they’ll ever be used. I told myself I’d take them if life still didn’t get better. So down they went, at least a couple hundred. I didn’t die, but I caused a lot of pain for friends, family, and my lungs, man. The ablulance took me to the emergency room in my town. There aren’t enough recourses to save a stupid suicidal teen, so they sent me hours away in a helicopter. The last thing I remember was going to sleep. When I woke up I had tubes in my throat and doctors and nurse telling me to cough so the pills would pump out of my body. How can you cough with a tube in your throat though? A day later, I was sent to a mental hospital where things only plummeted even more. There were about twenty people there, but I only made friends with two. Eventually more came and I had new friends for a few days. They had therapy dogs to help us psychos feel a little better until you’d go to art and be criticized by staff and become more suicidal. yay! I was put on antidepressants which made my bipolar disorder peak. They eventually made me lose 80 percent of my memory, so your girl stopped taking them. Then I got better. Believe me, I too, was an “it never gets better” person. I still was for months after leaving that mental hospital because the experience was so bad, but if you focus on the negative, how can you get better. My old cringy poems from years ago are a great example of how I thought things would suck for ever. Now, it’s been a bit over a year, and my perspective on life has changed. No longer am I a pessimistic angry teen who hates everyone. I found little things to hold on to so I hade a “purpose” until bigger things that gave me a bigger purpose came along. I wish any who has “it will never get better” ingrained in their head will find a way to make it bearable for them to keep pushing until they realize things do get better. If I would’ve died, I would’ve lost so much that I didn’t even know I’d gain.