You didn't really want to die. If anything, you wanted attention. You really believed five Vicadens, two Codeines, and two or three Valiums would grant you a trip to the hospital. But then you thought, if you were brave enough, you'd go the distance and take two, three, or even four times those amounts. Then it hit you. You wouldn't be here writing this. This wannabe suicide letter. You never thought you would stoop this low, and for one of the stupidest reasons, a girl like you especially, could make: for a guy. And only because he's being a jerk to you.
But why did you choose this time? Maybe because you didn't want it to boil over, and you finally wanted to take a stand about it. Decision. Let him know that you wouldn't just sit there and cry, not let him have the satisfaction that he kicked you down again. But he did. You just didn't want to accept it this time. Take charge on your own.
The unusual part of this is that you're not scared. You're kind of blank on emotions. What are you feeling? You guess if you had killed yourself, it would have been selfish of you. Parents crushed, friends disbelieving, and aquaintances confused.
You did think of one person. The one who kicked you down.