Hell exists

A few weeks after my 18th birthday I was about to get kicked out of my dad's house after living with him for only three days. The depression I'd felt since before I graduated reached its boiling point and I just couldn't take it anymore. Once him and my stepmom were asleep I took every pill from both medicine cabinets and swallowed them.

I sat down and watched TV for a bit and wondered exactly what dying was going to be like. My stomach grew upset and I threw up a little into a bucket that was lying in the converted garage in which I was sleeping. Then, I put the bucket outside, turned off the lights and laid down onto my cot, ready for the end to come and take me.

The first thing that went was my sense of hearing. All the sounds around me were muddled, like I was listening to everything underwater. I felt myself begin to sink, though my body stayed there on the cot. My eyes remained open, but the room around me began slipping farther away. This is when I stopped breathing.

I have no way of knowing how long I was out, because time is nothing more than a word once you've shaken lose the mortal coil. All I know is I felt like I would never stop falling. On the way there, I lost my vision and it wasn't until I reached my destination that my hearing kicked back in. The second it did, I wished it hadn't.

Like I said, I couldn't see a thing. All I could hear were countless voices screaming in pain and pleas for help which would never reach anyone who could do anything for them. Then there was an intense heat like nothing I'd ever known and the pain was intolerable. This was, however, nothing compared to the complete isolation and the knowledge that I would continue to suffer like this forever.

That's when I felt two cool hands place themselves lovingly upon my cheeks. Suddenly, I was racing upwards for what felt like an eternity before I could finally see my body above me. Right before I re-entered my vessel I heard the voice tell me, "It's not your time, yet."

Then I opened my eyes and my dad was sitting next to my cot, holding McDonalds right in front of my face. My stomach was torn to shreds and I couldn't bring myself to eat anything for almost a week after. My stepmom also ripped me a new asshole because the 2 dollar bucket I put outside was destroyed by her dogs.

After having over 7 years to reflect over these events I can tell you with all certainty that it was real. As with everything else I've posted here, I don't care what you think.

The worst thing about it is I'm not sure if this is still what's waiting for me once I've served my purpose and the possibility is always there in the back of my mind. I don't think there's really anything I can do to change this, so instead I've learned to make the best of the time I've got. If nothing else, the happy memories could help ease the pain, should I ever return to the pit for good.