I got home today. My head is still kind of swirling from the drugs they gave me the last few days. That was attempt number 2. I ate 119 oxycodone, just 5mg, I guess since I threw up that I didn't die. I am seeing people, I am ready books about suicide. I don't want my ex back. In fact, I don't think anything can make me normal again. They say time, I don't want to wait the time and plus I think that all the tradgic events have now messes me up from thinking clearly. I wished this was a feel good story and maybe one day it will be. I am not going to do something to myself today-it hurts to attempt. If the cleaning lady didn't find me, I wouldn't be here today. Now, I don't believe that gives me a purpose or mission to complete. All it means is that I was unlucky again. I am in bed reading tonight. We will see where this goes
