Life: 1. Perfectionist: 0

Hot damn, nearly made myself cry with that last one. But I don’t cry when I’m sober, so don’t get any ideas.

I can hear them now. You were suicidal at eight? Give me a damn break, you’re just being dramatic. Well first of all, fuck you in the face. I am dramatic, but not when it comes to this. I’ve had to think back about my first, not only, suicide attempt for going on 16 years now. I miss it. While it wasn’t painful, it isn’t a feeling I wish to experience again. The water crushed me. Not breathing is highly unpleasant. Giving up is not something I take lightly, and making a conscious choice to do it again is a toss up for me. It would have been so much simpler back then. For everyone really. No one had any idea what I would accomplish. No one had any idea how much talent I would waste. Not until now, of course. Now we can see all the damage, and it isn’t pretty.

One, two, three, four….. To be honest I’ve lost count of how many attempts I have under my belt. Which let’s be real, drives the perfectionist in me fucking insane. It should have been done right the first time. Pain free, drama free, before anyone knew any better. I don’t even remember attempt numero uno. Drunk, I suspect. If I had to guess, I would say freshman year of college. I got hammered (surprise!) and went to movie night in my friend’s dorm. When I tried to harm myself, they physically held me down. Lord knows how they got me home, but they eventually did. I think they thought I was just going to sleep. Sneaky, sneaky me. Maybe it was that night, maybe it was a different night, but all I remember was blood. My God there was a lot of blood. I went to freaking town on my arm because I didn’t feel a damn thing. After what was probably a half an hour, because I was slow and meticulous (and blind), my half of my dorm room was covered in blood. Shirt, pants, dresser, clothes in closet, desk, water bottle, bed, floor. You name it, I bled on it. Because I have a relatively high IQ even when doused in vodka, I said hey, let’s go to the community-shared bathroom and clean this up. So what did my dumb-ass do? Wrapped myself in some paper towels, unlocked the door, and quite literally fell out of my dorm room. I stumbled down the hallway, probably also bleeding everywhere, (did I pass a person?), and somehow found the bathroom. I think I chose a shower, and just stood there with my arm in it and watched the blood go down the drain.

Unfortunately, I awoke the next morning. Had to clean up the crime scene, bandage up the absolute hack job, and go to class. Went about my normal day, and we all pretended that nothing had happened.

Remember how I said that the ocean scene would have been more beautiful? Yeah, I wasn’t kidding. Nothing like dying in a pool of your own blood in a college dorm room when you’re alone and 17. Alas, my ending wasn’t there. Nor was it in the dozen or so attempts after that. That number is just a guess, btw.

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