Hello fellow Degrassians. This is the first Degrassi fan-fic I've posted. For a very long time I have had an idea of writing Cam as surviving his suicide attempt. I wanted to tackle the immense feelings of guilt, pain, and depression associated with what he is going through in a realistic manner. This first chapter is lengthy, I apologize, there was just so much I wanted to say. I will try my best to have a second one out soon. Please keep in mind that this story is potentially triggering. If you have any questions or comments about it (or what he is dealing with) don't hesitate to send me a PM. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it, because let's face the truth, who was ready for Cam to really leave?

Disclaimer: I do not own or write for Degrassi.

It felt a bit like falling. Not like falling asleep nor falling down, but somewhere in between that was not quite tangible. There was no definite explanation for it, but for a fleeting moment, it felt freeing. Everything was gone, and it was just it. It was neither there nor here, it was not existent, but yet it also was existent. The most alive one could ever feel but yet the most dead at the same time. To be that person in control of something so large for once, to prove to the world that perhaps more was happening than met the eye, to give up and to be able to make that decision, was very freeing. The reliance on an outer force taking control of it was no worry. It was the ultimate being, the ultimate feeling, the ultimate sacrifice. To take his own life felt satisfying and nobody had a say in how he had to do it and how long he had to live and how he had to live. For once, he was in control of something. Something that was so final. Ending his own life would be his greatest accomplishment and nobody had to expect him to act a specific way again.

It was the steady beep that woke him up. But he did not want to wake up, he wanted to continue falling. Opening his eyes was difficult, since the light shining through the window was the brightest that he could ever imagine. Where was he? The beeping continued at a steady pace and an odd muffled sound was not too far away, it sounded somewhat familiar but his brain was so foggy and confused, that he could not place it. His entire body felt heavy and sore and he was unable to move, not that his mind wanted him to, which he could not quite understand. And then, immediately, from the middle of nowhere, an engulfing sense of dread took over, and he began to cry. He realized that the reason why he could not move his body was because he was literally stuck, as if his arms and legs were tied down. But yet, he felt oh so weak, that even if he did try moving, he would find himself too tired to do so. Tears were falling uncontrollably down his face as the odd muffled sound grew louder, he could not hear what it was saying, but it sounded like a voice. A voice of comfort, but why did they sound so sad? He did he feel so distraught? Within moments, he shockingly remembered, and then the dread felt worse. He did not succeed in trying to take his own life. He failed. He was a failure. He was still alive and he did not want to be, and that hurt worse than the pain his body was feeling. A pattering of several footsteps sounded in the distance, but he kept his eyes closed as he continued to cry, succumbed with the worse feeling ever. It felt awful and he hated it and he hated himself and he really just wanted everything to go away. But he was stuck, literally, he had no way of moving to get rid of himself.

"Campbell, Campbell, honey, I'm here. Momma is here, baby." A warm hand touched his face and wiped away his tears. "I am here, everything is alright. Everything will be okay."

The voice was helping, he knew who it was, and by the sounds of it, she was crying. Because of him most likely, and that was his fault. He was fantastic at making people feel awful, and that made him feel even guiltier. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," was all he could say.

"There is no need to be sorry, baby. I am here. I am here, I am not going anywhere."

He re-opened his eyes and looked at the most caring face he could ever see, the only one he could even imagine wanting to see. She had been his beacon his whole life, and right then, in that fleeting moment, she brought him back to reality, and that perhaps, just quiet possibly, everything would be alright. But he really knew that it would not. He still felt an immense amount of pain, sleep still seemed to be the most appealing option, but it was not possible. He continued to cry, wishing that he had succeeded. It would have been a lot easier. He felt even worse than he did before and it was not fair. He just wanted to be gone. To disappear and fall again would be magnificent, to make himself nonexistent, seemed to be so perfect. For once, for the first time since he was a kid, he felt peaceful. But the fucking beeping had to wake him up. Why could he just not stay asleep? It was all he wanted. Sleep was really what he wanted.

"I'm so tired, Mom."

"I know, honey, I know. But you need to stay awake, baby. You are so strong, just hang on."

For a moment he panicked as his mother turned away and moved her hand to whisper something to someone whose voice did not sound familiar, but she returned, placing her hand back on his face. He found that he could not look her in the eyes; he did not want to see her pain. It would be much easier to try again if he did not see how she felt. He was already planning in doing it the moment he was removed from the dreadful bed tying him down.

"Campbell, honey, one of the doctors would like to talk to you. He's asked me to leave while the two of you talk. He is really nice, I promise. And I promise that I will be right back."

He did not want to talk. There was nothing to talk about. He might have failed this time, but he was going to achieve it eventually. It was final. There was nothing a doctor could do about it. His crying picked up after he felt his mother's hand leave once again and heard her soft steps leaving the room. It hurt so bad, it hurt so bad to be alone. The beeping was starting to become a nuisance, and he did not even place where it was coming from until he looked down at his chest where there were round adhesives stuck to him, monitoring his heart rate. The beeping machine was a hear monitor and when he turned to look at it, watching a line reach up high and then fall straight back down, as a sort of triangle, with smaller ones in between, and then going back up and down. It was sort of intriguing to watch, and for a second, the thought crossed his mind that if he had succeeded, the line would be horizontal and a loud, constant beeping would be sounding, and he would not physically be there, watching the line go back up and fall back down.

"It is peaceful to watch, isn't it? It soothes me."

"Well, it scares me."

Campbell turned to look at the doctor. He was short, not much taller than himself, and rather young. He was not wearing a lab coat, but a pair of khakis and a sweater-vest. A bright purple notebook was in his right hand.

"I think it is quite understandable why it would scare you." He hesitated for a moment, frowning at the screen, before turning back to Cam. "Do you mind if I sit?" Cam shook his head, not minding in the least, he only wished the damned monitor could be shut off. It was just another cruel reminder of his existence.

"Ah, perhaps I should undo these so we could talk more comfortably. I am assuming you are not going to kick me, correct?" The doctor gestured towards the straps tying Cam's legs and arms down. He shook his head; he wanted to kill himself, not anyone else.

"Now, if I take the ones off on your arms, Campbell, you have to promise me that you will keep your hands in a place where I could see them. If you can keep that promise, than I will make a promise to you to not have to use these again."

"Yeah, sure," Cam muttered. And he meant it; he was more than willing to keep his hands in the open if it meant to be free from the burden of the psycho-straps. Psycho. That was what he truly was. The crying came back as the doctor un-did them, freeing his arms, and immediately he brought his hands up to his eyes, blocking his face from the world. He did not want anyone to see him crying or to see his pain. He hurt so bad; it was so painful. Cam did not even care that his nose was leaking or that his tears were drenching his entire face. His whole entire body was shaking and it was starting to become harder to breathe. "I hate this…I hate this. I just want it all to end," he sobbed. "Please, please just let me end it."

"End what exactly, Campbell?"

"Everything! Me! Please," he pleaded. It did not seem like that complicated of a favor. It was his body and life after all. If he did not want it anymore, he should be able to rid of it.

"I am afraid I cannot let that happen."

What was that supposed to mean? Along with the pain and the anguish, he started to feel anger.

"Why not?" Cam paused to take in a breath, struggling to get any coherent thought or word across, he felt stuck still, despite being undone from the straps. He felt as if he was being controlled and he hated it, he hated it so much. "It would make everyone happier- it would make me happier! Please, I am begging you."

"I disagree. I believe many people would be very unhappy, Campbell. And how do you know that you would be happier? There would be no telling, you would be gone. If you stay, there is a greater chance that you will find happiness again."

It made sense, but Cam did not want it to. He was stubborn, and what he wanted to was to be gone, forever, and he was going to achieve it. He felt miserable and he had been feeling miserable for a very long time. He had to put an end to it. It was the only thing that made sense to him. Cam sneered, "There is no way that is going to happen."

"Do you not want to be happy?"

The question put him off-guard. For the longest time, he could not remember being happy. The last moment he truly remembered feeling the littlest bit of elation was the night he spent with Maya, but even then, he still felt very sad. He felt hopeless and he knew, as he had known for a while, that it would not last forever. Maya was much too good for him and he had no idea how to make her happy. It was way too much pressure. And then his family was another thing. They expected way too much out of him when all he wanted was to live a normal life. He wanted to graduate from high school, get into college, discover himself, graduate from college, see the world, and then have a family after settling down. He did not want to play for the NHL anymore. Yes, he did truly love hockey, it was his passion, but that was ripped away from him when he met how cruel and nasty other hockey players could be. It was so difficult to be himself in front of them, especially when he barely even knew who he was. He did not control the path of his life and had not for a very long time. Even before he arrived in Toronto, the small town he lived in made him miserable. He despised knowing everyone and having everyone know everything about him. To be honest to himself, he did not know what it was like to feel happy anymore. He was comfortable with feeling sad. Although his tears had begun to cease, Cam still covered his face. His knees were know pulled to his chest and he hid behind it, showing that his hands were still there, that he was not going to hurt himself with them.

"I don't know if I want to be happy," Cam whispered. "I just do not want to be awake."

He heard the doctor shift at the end of the bed and open the notebook, marking something down. "Awake, or alive, Campbell?"

"Both. I am tired and I want to be dead."

"Why do you want to be dead? From what I've heard, your future holds great potential. You have friends, a girlfriend, a great family, you are very smart. What went wrong?"

"It was always wrong."

For several moments there was silence, leaving Cam to continue pondering over his thoughts. Where did it actually go wrong? It was true; he did have a really great family, despite the pressure for him to be perfect. However, he was unable to give the perfection. And before he left for Toronto, his old school gave him hell. His peers typically chose to make fun of him or ignore him due to his introverted personality. He wanted to talk to them and make friends, he always had, but he did not know what to say to them or how to start a conversation. Whenever he did, it always came out sounding foolish. Hockey became his obsession, his way to cope with not having much else. True, he had always been exemplary at hockey, as he was with most other sports as well. But then, when he was offered a position as the youngest player ever for the Toronto Ice Hounds, everything shifted. Suddenly, the entire school wanted to be best friends with him. All of it was very shallow. And his parents were so proud of him- but all he wanted was to stay home and be normal. Rather unwillingly, he left for Toronto to live with a billet family. He had never been to Toronto and it was overwhelming and so far from home. And Degrassi was just a whole other story that he did not even want to think about since it just brought up so much pain, but just the thought of what was there, of the mere mention of 'friends' and his 'girlfriend' was too much. He began to break down again. He never wanted to step foot in Toronto again.

"If I can't die today, can I at the very least go home?" He begged, starting to wish that his mother was back in the room again.

A solemn looked crossed the doctor's face as he shook his head. "Campbell, that is not possible right not. What you tried to do was extremely serious. You are sick and you need help. I am not calling you crazy nor am I saying that what you are feeling is not real. Depression is an illness. Unfortunately, it is unable to be treated properly where we sit now. You will need to be moved to a more intensive place, where all of the staff members are trained to work with other adolescents. I myself will be there."

Depression. Sick. Illness. Crazy. Help. That was all Campbell was hearing. He felt his mind drifting, wishing so very badly to go away. He wanted the falling sensation back. He needed it back. The emotional pain he was feeling was unbelievable and his body still ached badly. He truly hated himself. He hated everything. He hated himself. He hated everything. He hated himself. He hated everything. He hated being alive. "Please, please," Cam cried, "I want the easy way out. I want to go away, forever."