Unfortunately, I have been in a place where I thought about giving up on life. I was eighteen years old, and a student in a nursing program. I was not happy with where my life was at that point: I had never wanted to be a nurse, but felt pushed into it by both my mother and my paternal grandmother. I had been in the candy-striper program at our local hospital while in high school, and that was when I realized it wasn't for me. I spent a LOT of my volunteer days signing in on the time log, finding an out of the way place to hide for two hours, and then signing out.
I tried to talk to my mother and explain that what I really wanted to do was to be a teacher, but she wasn't willing to listen to to what I had to say. So off to nursing school I went. Academically, I had a very good first quarter, but when it came to working in the hospital, I was miserable. We were assigned to a geriatric unit, and there were several times I would work with a patient, then come back two days later to discover they had passed away. For someone as sensitive and emotional as I am, that was a very difficult situation.
I started the second quarter feeling nothing but trapped and miserable. By the time we were two weeks in, I knew I could no longer deal with the situation. I tried talking to my mother again, but my f ull scholarship to the program, in her opinion, obligated me to stay where I was.
When I went back to school at the end of that weekend, I was at my wit's end. I told everyone I was going to bed early, wrote a note for my roommate, and proceeded to take an entire bottle of Tylenol. I then went to sleep, never expecting to wake up.
My roommate found me, alerted the housemother, and the ambulance came to take me to the hospital, where I had the "joy" of having my stomach pumped. Luckily I suffered no lasting damage--and I was FINALLY able to get my mother to accept that I wasn't cut out to be a nurse.