1

As I frantically clutch onto the bottle of pills I consider the consequences of what I'm about to do. As usual my ignorance gets the best of me so I disregard that consideration.

I twist off the safety cap, my hands shaking. If you would've asked me my opinion on suicide earlier on in my life, I probably would've told you that it was one of the most selfish actions a person could commit. A lot has happened in the past year, enough to make me change my perception of selfishness.

I was raped. Peter Hadley was his name. We were in the same year at school. I never paid much attention to him. I was always too hung up with my friends. It was one night where I was walking home from Christina's house that everything changed.

Peter offered me a ride and I took it, he seemed friendly enough at the time. He made small talk and I told him where my house was but he didn't care. He made it clear that he didn't have the purest of intentions. In a moment of pure desperation and stupidity I jumped out of the car. I injured my leg pretty badly, enough to where the pain was debilitating. I couldn't get up. Peter stopped the car and came back to my side lifting me up and putting me in the trunk. "You made this so much easier," he told me.
When we got to what I assumed was his house, he picked me up out of the car and I threw punches at him but he just laughed at my failed attempts. He took me inside and I finally snuck a good punch in, right at his left eye too. He was pissed. He aggressively ripped my clothing off my body. He sloppily touched me for his own sick pleasure then took my virginity.
It was one of the most excruciating pains I've ever felt in my life. He wasn't even mindful of how injured my leg was, then again why should have I expected him to be gentle? He is a rapist after all.
A month later I found out I was pregnant. I couldn't tell anyone, Peter threatened to kill me if I did. I got an abortion without my parent's permission and no one ever suspected a thing. Now six months later here I am ready to end my life.

After the abortion I didn't feel anything for a while, I was kind of numb. I dissociated myself from all of my friends and fell into a state of isolation. In the past month I've finally began to feel again. I thought it was a good thing at first, but now the guilt is eating away at me. I hate myself for killing the poor child that was growing inside of me. It could've been someone great and I robbed it from its potential. However I reason that it wouldn't have been someone great considering that Peter would've been the father.

I dump a few pills into my hand and get myself a cup of water. I lock the bathroom door behind me. I swallow each painkiller one by one. When I reach the last one I feel a pang of regret. I actually followed through with it. Soon I'm going to cease to exist. I exit the bathroom and head to my bedroom falling asleep.

"Beatrice, wake up," my mother says whilst shaking me desperately. "Beatrice, please," she pleads her voice becoming more strained. I assume she's been doing this for a while. I open my eyes and once I open my mouth to talk I throw up all over my bed covers. The bright white round tablets are clearly visible in the vomit. I look at my mother and see that she's holding the empty bottle. Then I notice my father behind her.
"Andrew pick her up, we're taking her to the emergency room," she says and with that I pass out in my father's arms.

When I wake up I cry considering there's nothing else left to do. I was supposed to be dead, not here. I'm in a hospital bed. I have an oxygen cannula inserted in my nose. I find out my body was in the pre-stage of Central Nervous System depression, which would've killed me had it continued to happen. They gave me an antidote called naloxone to rapidly reverse all of the symptoms, just fucking great.

Now I feel like a complete failure. Tris Prior, the girl who can't even end her life right. My family leaves considering I refuse to talk to them and instead a therapist replaces them. He sits next to my bed and he looks at me with a look of bewilderment in his eyes. "Hello Tris my name is Dr. Harrison. I'm going to be performing a psychiatric evaluation on you," he tells me and I scoff.
"Why? I'm fine," I tell him. "Clearly you aren't fine. People who are fine don't try to overdose on Percocet," he tells me and then I get angry. Who is he to act like he knows me?

"I'm going to do it again once I get out of here so why is anyone even wasting their time on me?" I say annoyed at the fact that people are trying to keep me alive. "Because believe it or not Beatrice, your family cares about you greatly. There is hope and I believe you can get better as long as you're willing to cooperate," he tells me.

"But here's the thing doc, I don't want to cooperate," I say truthfully and he raises his eyebrows. "Obviously there's something you're hiding from everyone and it's eating away at you. Am I correct?" He asks cockily. God damn it.

"You're right but no one's ever going to know because as soon as the next opportunity arises I'm going to kill myself and no one can stop me," I say, my words filled with power. "Well I admire your determination and persistence but maybe it could be more productive if you applied those traits to a different aspect of your life," he tells me and his words just go in one ear and out the other. I'm not retaining or valuing anything he tells me so he might as well be speaking a completely different language.

"Yeah whatever," I mumble. "Well Beatrice you don't seem to be the most compliant person so I'm going to write a referral to Chicago Lakeshore Psychiatric Hospital and schedule your intake assessment for tomorrow. After all it is getting fairly late and I think you should get some sleep," He tells me.

There are so many thoughts racing through my head. I'm going to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital tomorrow. This isn't fair. I don't deserve this and to think if I had never would have gotten raped then I probably wouldn't be here right now. It's not fair that I want to die just because of what some asshole did to me. If anyone deserves to die then that's him.

Regardless of that thought, I still want to be dead. After all I'm just as guilty as he is. I killed my baby after all. I silently sob while trying to rest, but sleep doesn't come easy for me tonight. The sound of the oxygen machine is so loud that it's giving me a headache.

Somehow I fall asleep and thankfully it's a deep dreamless sleep. Free of worries and sorrows that will surely be brought back up again tomorrow.