I've decided I'm not as ready as I thought to tell what happened after my suicide attempt to the general public. It's just too hard, and I don't want to break down again. I've never realized that the months to follow were so much worse.
Recovery is such a long process, and I even slid way backwards for awhile in there. But right now I'm okay for the most part. I may be broken, but I'm not shattered anymore.
When I finally started to get back out into the world, I was so much more attuned to the number of teens and people in general with problems like I had. I don't think I ignored them before, but I didn't really understand and felt weird hanging out with those sorts of people. Oftentimes I wonder if I could ever go back to being so ignorant and so... well, normal.
Last night I decided that I'm not entirely sure I would change my past, as awful as it sounds. Because of it I believe I'm a better person in some ways, but it was so indescribly horrible it usually doesn't seem worth it. I guess it's good that in reality changing the past isn't an option.
I also wonder where I would be right now. Most definately not writing this blog, and I would probably be a lot more immature and innocent. I wouldn't have the wonderful friends I have now either, unfortunately. (for if one of you is reading this: :-D )