Back to square one.

I just joined this site after stumbling upon it researching suicide methods. I know I’m not supposed to share that sort of thing so I’ll just say I was wondering for a moment if I could turn my suicide into a test on how to slow and prolong the bleeding out process if someone’s throat was slit, maybe even create a method to rescuing someone like that, by cutting my own and recording a little experiment, but finding this made me rethink how I got to this conclusion…

I first attempted in third grade, with a makeshift hanging that broke because it was built idioticly in the first place.

Then I tried cutting, but I was a *****, and pills, but they pumped my stomach. In ninth grade I had probabl y my longest sustained smile/laughter trying to cut a bully in science class with a box knife. Instead of juvenile justice I turned on the water works in the middle of my hearing and claimed he was gay, and sexually harassing me… I lied, and there was never a follow-up. I was simply suspended for a few weeks.

My mom spent all this time promising to put me in therapy, and I was excited to go but… She never did. She’s broken every promise she ever made to me actually…. She… Has her hands full.

Then there came the stealing, the arson, the petty vandalism. I used weapons, I used drugs, I used people… But just a few years ago all of that stopped. I entered a creative writing class one year and fell in love with it. I started chrushing on this girl in there and she showed me a lot of what I still turn to today in order to stay in one piece. I cast aside a false religion and started an invigorating search for truth, my confidence actually went high enough to confess my feelings to that girl, she blushed, we almost went out, but there was another guy and she let me down easy… But that was ok because I was going to become some rich writer one day, forge my own code of laws and finally feel free.

I chose an overweight, below average looks girl because she was sweet, cherished me like I was a big deal, and she’s good at holding me together.

Now she controls me, walks me through everything like a child. She ended up in debt, and I put myself in it with her to help. On top of this I haven’t written in almost a year now. I want to so fucking bad more than anything. Just to know I haven’t given up on or wasted every good chance I’ve ever gotten but I just fucking can’t.

But at least I was holding myself together. Sure I was still having panic attacks, the insomnia was giving me hell switching to a night job, depression seeping in whenever I let up, and then there were the voices…

But I looked… Normal.. I think… But I work at Wal-Mart… Fucking Wal-Mart, entry level.. and they’re thinking of firing me. I’m actually on my last strike. And the worst part? I actually tried… I work next to a fibromyalgic 50 year old man with an IQ under 90 and a severe cerebral palsy patient… And they came to tell me I wasn’t good enough all the same… With the lethargy and the insomnia I just couldn’t stay conscious… I don’t even blame my bosses really. But it seems to have sent me right back where I started… And everyone else is as worried as me…