The stories about suicide attampts vary. There are some who instantly regret it and others who realize there was no regret. The latter often try again, I am apart of the latter.
I do understand the most do not succeed on a first attempt; but, I’d like to think that my chances would have increased by the 15th. However, I still try, try, try again hoping for a different result. Honestly, I don’t really remember how many times it has been now.
Yet, to me none of that matters. Eventually one day I’ll get it right. You’d think after all these attempts someone would care to say something. What hurts me the most isn’t that I have no interest in life, it’s that my mom knows and has never tried to stop me. She has never even tried to talk to me about it. Yet, she puts all her problems on me. The other day she yelled at me for gaining weight. She said “you’re a good for nothing who won’t do anything with their life and got fat. You don’t deserve fitting clothes. Just fix you’re life and work it off”. Oh and obviously she means by myself as she has no interest in whether I live or die. The funny thing is most of you may think she is a shitty mom but to anyone who knows her calls her “the best mom“, “supermom“, and “the most supportive person and advisor“. I’m not sure why she is such a nicer person in public versus behind closed doors. Although I guess that sounds pretty easy and typical.
My mom did always call me a hypochondriac. Guess that’s just what she thinks my suicide attempts are “fake“.