This is my first and last story here-

It all started- at least I can remember it starting- back when I was in seventh grade. I say that, mainly because that was when anxiety was my main issue. I was that kid who was afraid of everything that came against rules. Panic attacks were the worst of it- for the most part. I would start hyperventilating if I was running late for anything. To this day I still freak out when it comes to being tardy for things. But that isn’t what we’ve come to write about is it? My ability to stay on time? Nope… Thats not what you come to the suicide project to share..

See- That was where it all started though. It got to the point where psychologically I was malfunctioning. I couldn’t handle school. I couldn’t handle bullies. I couldn’t handle hateful parents. I was on a rollercoaster of a breakdown.

It was during eighth grade that I finally crashed. Within a month I would find myself sleeping with kitchen knives under my pillows, walk home from school-trying not to involuntarily throw myself out in front of incoming traffic; I couldn’t even take a simple biology test without going through waves of wanting to take my pencil through my temple.

It was hell- and its to my assumption that my fellow students realized part of it. Mainly the part that said something wasn’t right. I say that because I did get reccomended to a specialist- but for the wrong reasons. My school thought I got mixed in with the wrong crowd and was doing/selling drugs… Ironically enough- this was before I started smoking even cigarettes (my present day favorite hobby).

That was all settled however in a brief thirty minute session where I made the mistake of telling the damned official the truth. There goes the privacy act for you. The idea behind it was that if I showed signs of suicidal to homicidal behavior it would be taken as an official matter.

They forced me to see a psychologist. She was the one who realized that I was suffering from a case of as She put it “High Risk Chemically Induced Manic Depression” and if that weren’t enough she added “and also a Sociopathological dissorder.” Basically in Lamen’s Terms- she told my parents that I would continue to be suicidal because my brain was all sorts of chemically imbalanced- and I would continue with life not only like that but with my dissability to distinguish between the normal feelings of society. She hit the nail on the head there…

I only stayed with her for three sessions- and gave up afterwards.. I decided to cope. By myself.
This ended in a lot of self mutilation- but I won’t go into that, because as we know; there is no reason for details. The act itself is the act itself..

Obviously this isn’t the end though- because this is where we come to actual suicides, right? In my time here, since the time this story began- I have attempted suicide about five times- most of which were aboutsix months to a year appart. As a tally/timeline it would go: 1st was hanging- 2nd was pills, as was third- 4th was drowning- and then as repetition states- 5th was again pills..

I believe it was the individual who has posted not right beneath me but beneath the one beneath me that said something that I completely agree with.
“There is nothing worse than waking up that next morning after you try to commit suicide.”

It is one of the worst- most deadening feelings ever… I hate it.

But that is pretty much it. There is no happily ever after. I did what I did, and I am who I am.. I can’t change that. I won’t change- I haven’t changed.. In fact as I write this, I realize that it was my own suicidal nature that spurred me to find this blog. Hm.. Irony. Such a coppery word.. So- feel free to comment if you’d like- that is your choice. If I never get back to you it is either because I never came back to this site , /or/, well… You know.

Yours truly,
Socio-Slumber.

P.S. Just remember, when life gets you down, just wait til the dellusions kick in.