I guess in a way this story has a tragicomical ring to it. 
When I (21 f) was 8ish years old (maybe a bit older, I don’t remember exactly) my parents gave me some pills that I had to take daily to deal with some stomach issues. At the time, I was convinced that the abuse of ANY pills would instantly kill me (I don’t know why I thought that, I was just young I guess). Well, one night I was profoundly sad, can’t remember why, and I took all the stomach pills I had, and I waited.
I didn’t die, of course - stomach pills don’t kill you.
After waiting on the bathroom floor for a few hours I understood that nothing was gonna happen; I went to sleep and I’ve never talked about this with anyone.

However, I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. It scares me that I was so young and already so deeply broken to the point that I wanted my life to end. It scares me that I still carry that sadness with me.
It scares that I don’t know if I can define it a suicide attempt.
It scares me that now I feel like I’m “overliving”. I really thought I’d be gone at this point, one way or another; instead I’m still here, but this doesn’t feel like my life. 
 It scares me that tomorrow I have to go to a psychiatrist because I haven’t been sleeping these past few weeks and I’m scared that he will prescribe me sleeping pills, because sleeping pills are definitely more dangerous than stomach pills.
I don’t know what to call the way that I’m feeling, I don’t know if I’m depressed or just dramatic, I don’t know why I haven’t told my therapist any of this.