Basically I had planned ahead. I was on the methadone program. The most I would get is two bottles @ 115 mg on a Saturday. So I wouldn't have to go to the clinic on that Sunday. I was in a homeless shelter at the time , and they had a close watch on me for suicide. I was also forced into therapy. I always denied that I had plans to use overdose as a method. [ in fact I always denied being suicidal at all, but hard to hide from a therapist the truth when certain topics can bring you to tears. ] every other avenue was closed to me, but for some months I maintained hope that they would eventually screw up, and give me a third bottle. For a holiday, or just some clerical error. Indeed that's what happened. I went in on a Friday, and was gifted a third bottle. [ lol ] I left the clinic, and drank them all. 345 mg of methadone. I executed flawlessly according to plan. The problem was I didn't expect the effects to hit me as quickly as they did. I couldn't make it to a subway to get lost, and had to settle for lieing down in a dog park, and portraying a sleeping homeless man. I'm still here, so obviously I was found , and revived. The rest of the story is right out of the X-Files. Maybe one day I'll share it. In conclusion I overcame SI by having a plan that needed external factors to come online for me to execute. I had worked over the plan many times in my head. The time eventually arrived when all was lined up for me to execute, and SI wasn't a concern when they did. Just robotic execution of the plan was all that existed. Yes there was an emotional outpouring after I drank them, and definitely more so when I arrived at the park where I was to die, and indeed did die. Noteworthy also is the traumatic emotions later after the attempt. Didn't expect that part. I didn't expect to survive either though.