When the World Doesn’t Let You End

July 30th, 2009by Saeide

Well, to be honest I don’t know why I’m here. To be blunt some random guy in a gaming community suddenly linked me to this site out of the blue and I decided that what the heck, I’d share my story since I’ve had self-destructive if not suicidal thoughts lately.

My mother was my world, I was not close to any of my other immediate family members. She’d had cancer for nearly nine years when she finally passed away. My world and life collapsed. I spent a whole week doing nothing but lying in my room, I didn’t eat, I barely slept; I simply laid on my bed and watched the ceiling. After the first month I decided it was all too much and resolved to end it all. I waited for everyone to go to sleep and took a shower with a hunting knife my dad had bought me on a skiing trip. I sliced both wrists and watched my blood flow down my hands and into the drain, I lost conciousness soon afterwards. I woke up a few hours later, I’m still not sure exactly how long I was unconcious for though it was not yet light so it wasn’t all that long I suppose, I was light headed from the blood loss. My first reaction to waking up was wondering if I had died and there was indeed an afterlife, like I said I was out of it. When I realized I could still feel the water running over my skin I despaired to find that my wrists had failed to bleed out, my blood had clotted too quickly and prevented me from leaving the pain behind. I felt bitter and even betrayed though I’m still not sure why I felt betrayed, I suppose I was angry at my body which had apparently stopped my death. I sat in the shower for a long time looking at the stained tile and my clotted wrists and the knife next to me. I considered picking it up again and trying it all over again, I didn’t think I could survive twice, I realized though that I had tried, and it hadn’t worked, so for whatever reason by whatever powers I was still alive and that had to mean something. So I stood up when I could finally see straight, and staggered to my bedroom and went to sleep, a real sleep for the first time since my mother died. When I woke up I didn’t tell anyone anything, I wore long sleeves until the cuts finally healed and the scars faded and never told anyone until years later. In the six years since then I’ve tried to make my life mean something, I’m uncertain if I’ve suceeded or not; I’ve managed to build a relationship with a family I was never close to, am still in school and trying to get by. Despite the hardships however I refuse to give in to the thoughts that sometimes come back to me, thoughts of trying again and making whatever fortune smiled upon me worthless. So despite it all, I am still here, I am still trying, it hurts, but life is supposed to hurt isn’t it?

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