y first suicide attempt was the result of a combination of things. I had just flunked a class for the first time, for instance, and was doubly-terrified that (1) I had screwed up my chances to go to college and (2) my parents were going to kill me. This was also the time when my three-year crush on Kiki Shelton was at its most intense, and I can remember thinking very clearly what a chickenshit I was for not having the courage to tell her about my crush, and how I was sure I was always going to be this way for the rest of my life. In addition, this was the year I had decided that I was an atheist, and life seemed pretty meaningless in general. Add to this a feeling of utter hopelessness that most teens experience when they realize the lack of empowerment options available to them, and you've got one unhappy 16-year-old.
Unlike a lot of people I know I didn't brood over it, envisioning my own funeral filled with all the grief-stricken mourners who were now sorry for how shitty they had treated me when I was alive. I simply had one particular night when my despair crept to an almost overwhelming level, and I snuck into my parents' room and dug out a handful of bottles containing leftover prescription medicine.
I sat on my bed and looked at all the bottles, wondering how many I would have to take to effectively kill myself. Then I wrote an entry in my short-lived journal about how life seemed to have no meaning and how I was about to commit suicide. Then I started crying, really hard. I cried for about half an hour and ended up falling asleep before I could take the pills.
I woke up the next morning with the bottles scattered all over the bed and spilling onto the floor. (My parents and I had an agreement at the time that they would not come into my room without my permission, save for emergencies.) I felt stupid for being so weak as to actually contemplate suicide. I resolved that very morning to actually ask out Kiki Shelton before the end of the year (I never did), to become comfortable with my atheism (I never did) and to understand that one F wasn't the end of the world (it wasn't). I threw the bottles into my sock drawer and that evening snuck them back into the medicine cabinet in my parents' bedroom. And that was that.
