I ended up locking myself in my bathroom and swallowing every single pill I had in there. I was eighteen and thought I knew everything. I was living away from home for the first time. I had a little apartment in a horrible run down building full of cockroaches and the dregs of society.
Third floor is the mental health floor in the local hospital.
I had not been diagnosed with bipolar yet, so I had no clue why I felt the way I did that summer. I was depressed a lot. I was spending a lot of time drinking, having sex with anyone who said yes, and doing every drug I could get my shaky little hands on. The day before I checked myself onto the third floor, I woke up around noon. I dragged myself, still in my pj s, to the apartment down the hall.