I was happy to be alive. But then, a year later, I tried again. I've lost count of how many times I've tried and failed. I tried to poison myself, overdose on sleeping pills, hang myself, drown myself, suffocate myself, and throw myself into traffic. Now, when I wake up after taking every sleeping pill in arm's reach and washing it down with a bottle of wine, I'm never, ever relieved. I feel trapped. I feel desperate. I feel like even more of a failure. And I have even wondered if the reason that I can't kill myself is because I'm already dead and in Hell. This is a living Hell.
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