It's been a little over three years since my suicide attempt.

Just over three years ago, ending my life felt like such a logical option. A medication that I was taking really messed with my head. That medication and my undiagnosed bipolar disorder proved to be a deadly combination.

Something happened that night. A flip switched.

My mom found me the next morning. She has since told me that she knew something was wrong when she opened my door. She couldn't get my attention.

I was unconscious, pill bottles on the floor and vomit riddled with undigested pills in the trashcan beside me. From what I understand, my inability to keep those pills down is one of the things that saved my life.

I don't know how long I was unconscious. Two or three days? I was incubated and catheterized. I woke up with skin missing, where the tape held the tubes in place on my neck. I woke up in a lot of pain.

I had to go to the hospital. The psychiatric hospital. I was so angry. I knew that I needed to go and that I didn't really have a choice. After all, I had just tried to take my own life. I was still so angry. I don't think anyone ever wants to end up in the psych ward.

I was terrified. Psych hospitals are no vacation. I got almost no sleep and absolutely no "decent sleep." Its hard to sleep when you know you're on camera.

But the psych ward is another article in and of itself.

I was there for five or six days. I never truly cried. I was too overwhelmed, too numb and too busy just trying to make it through those long days to cry. My family came to visit me every single day. Two hours have never gone by so quickly. All I wanted was to be with them.

When I finally got to go home it took me days to unwind. I finally cried. My body began to ache in ways I didn't even know was possible. My entire body hurt, and my bones felt too heavy to move. I came home weighing a mere 110 pounds. I looked like a skeleton. I was lost. I had to start putting my life back together, but I didn't even know where to begin.

I put my loved ones through hell. I know that. But, was my suicide attempt selfish? Was my last-ditch effort at ending the pain I felt truly a selfish act?

I don't think so. My family doesn't think so. I wasn't in my right mind.

If you're choosing to take your life, you aren't in your right mind. When you are so overwhelmed by hurt and confusion that you think the only way out is to take your own life, you aren't being selfish. You are not to blame.

However, as survivors of suicide will tell you, suicide is not the answer. Have you ever heard someone say, "Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem?" I used to hate that saying because my problems didn't feel temporary at all. It turns out, they were temporary. I'm lucky that my "permanent solution" failed.

When someone is stuck and they begin to think that suicide is the only option, telling them that they're selfish for thinking about it just adds blame to their already fragile life.