Do you remember the night I messaged you, telling you how I overdosed?

Do you remember how scared I was? I couldn't stop crying.

While I was taking them,

While I was vomiting them,

While I was laying in bed, begging God to help me,

While I was explaining to my grandma what I had done. How many I had taken, which was 27, a number I now shudder at,

On the way to the hospital, when you weren't there to hold my hand.

That day.

Do you remember it as well as I?

I wouldn't say I remembered it to well.

Just enough.

I know that it's not your fault, it wasn't anyone's.

It was just me, 'looking for attention' I suppose.

But the days leading up to it? It didn't feel like that.

It felt like I had a pit in the spot that my heart was supposed to be.

It felt like I was left behind while everyone was going forward.

It felt-

...

bad.

Terrible.

Its always there and it hurts.

It hurts so bad.

I didn't mean to, but I still want to.