I've never really talked about my attempt. That was 23 years ago now. My mom pretends it never happened, so I guess I just follow suit. But it was real, very real. I was 18. I went to the store, bought a bottle of sleeping pills, went to my friends house (she was at work), and downed them all. When I started feeling the effects of the pills, I got scared and called a friend. He came and took me to the hospital. I had to have my stomach pumped which is a horrible experience. I was put on a 72-hour psychiatric hold. I ended up being court-ordered into therapy. I eventually worked through it. Many times since then, especially with my pain, I have wished that I would just die. But, I would never, ever do that again. Why? Because I love Jesus and suicide is a sin that would send me straight to hell. And hell is real and not a place I intend on going when I die!! And no, this decision is not easy, in fact, it's very difficult because it makes me feel trapped when I get depressed, knowing that is never an out for me limits my options. So that is my story in so far as this subject goes!