bored. Anybody wanna talk?
aim/yahoo messenger: artzygrl1919
c u t e c o p p e r Â 1 9 @ h o t m a i l Â . c o m
5 Years ago today is when I tried to ctb. I was 16.
The events around it that triggered it, I admit, were bullshit but my reasoning behind it was not.
I got home from school. the bullshit that happened was that I thought I lost a friend, someone I loved, due to some stupid shit that happened that I thought was my fault. I blamed myself for everything back then. That’s what triggered it. My reason behind wanting to die is that I saw myself as a worthless person who could never do anything right and would never amount to anything in life. I figured, this is the last straw. I’m tired of it, and now that I lost someone I really cared for it’s not worth it anymore. I spent the whole evening thinking how to do it. Hadn’t done any prior research. Took some rope, looped it around the top of my closet door in a special way so that it wouldn’t come apart or fall down (I’m 5’2″ and was about 130lbs back then) tied a knot at the end of the rope (don’t remember the knot I used but I’m good at crafts and sewing so I assumed it would have worked) stood on a step-stool and put the rope around my neck.
I guess that’s when the survival instinct kicked in. I didn’t understand until years later what held me back. It’s like I couldn’t control my body, my thoughts were all over the place and I couldn’t think straight, my mind felt like a hive of bees. It’s like I turned into a robot. I got off the step-stool and climbed into bed, I think I fell asleep right away.
The next day I remember a lot better. I got up the next morning, caught the bus (literally, the bus to go to school, lol) got to my high school and walked through the halls, still like a zombie. I didn’t talk to anybody (that says a lot, considering my high school has 3300 people in it and I had loads of friends) I went into the computer classroom early that my chemistry class was in. This next part sounds stupid and I’m kind of embarrassed about it. The first person that talked to me that day was my teacher (she was a ***** and everybody hated her, but I still managed to get an A in her class anyway) and she asked me why my project wasn’t done yet. In 1.5 seconds I went from zombie to total nutcase and I blurted out that I tried to kill myself the night before.
Suddenly, she wasn’t a ***** anymore. She kicked everybody out of the room. “Aww, Honey, why?”
“I hate myself.” Was my response. I didn’t say anything else.
Then there was a lot of shit that happened. She took me down to some counselor on the first floor. I was stuck in that office until my parents came to pick me up. Since they both work in a hospital I guess the school thought it would be okay if they didn’t call an ambulance and just had my parents drive me instead. My parents (my mom and step-dad, just for the record) acted all upset and worried in the office, but once I got to the car I was in deep shit with them. “Why the fuck did you do this?” “Well what the fuck are we going to do with her?” “I had stuff to do today, you know!” It went on and on. They couldn’t take me to hospital #1 because that hospital sucks. They couldn’t take me to hospital #2 because my grandma was staying there for cancer treatments, and they also worked there (wouldn’t want to tarnish their reputations, now would we?) So they took me to hospital #3, which it turned out, they didn’t have a psych ward. So I sat there in the hospital while people in scrubs questioned me, stripped off my clothes and inspected my body, put me in a hospital gown, made me pee into a cup, then made me wait for 9.5 HOURS while they waited for an ambulance to transfer me back to hospital #2. I switched back into zombie mode. I was totally calm, wasn’t freaking out or crying or screaming or anything. But they strapped me to a gurney anyway and zoomed me off to the other hospital. Went to sleep that night in a hospital bed that kept making noise all night because it kept re-inflating itself. There was no mirror in the shower, just a plate of highly polished metal screwed to the wall. The towels were small and scratchy. The pillows were flat, not soft and squishy like at home. In the windows, the blinds were between the panes of reinforced glass. The only view I had from the window was the animal shelter across the street that I used to visit as a kid. I never got to finish my crafts that I started, and I was there for a week. My parents refused to bring me anything from home, except for my music books because they let me play the piano a few times. When they let me wear my real clothes again, I only had two outfits: The jeans and black t-shirt I wore to school, and a pair of sweat pants and my Wicked: The Musical t-shirt. My parents yelled at me because I didn’t take showers enough at the hospital, “You’ll make yourself look bad [to the doctors] because you don’t shower!” when in reality all I was given was a trial sized bottle of baby shampoo to wash myself for a week. And my parents refused to give me any toiletries from home. wtf, right? They told the scrubs “Oh she doesn’t really want to die, she didn’t really try to kill herself, otherwise she would have already died. It was a fake attempt. She’s only doing this for attention. She’s only doing this to make us look bad.” That last sentence will haunt me forever. They never really cared for me, they only care about their reputations.
When I got out of the hospital, I totally missed seeing the leaves change color. In one week, everything changed to orange and yellow and red. 🙁
I told the scrubs that I may be depressed in the future, but I would never be suicidal again.
HAHAHA what a laugh.
What makes me mad is that I never told anybody the real reason why I was so depressed. The fact is, I had been emotionally/mentally abused by my parents for as long as I can remember. And I had also been molested and sexually harassed many, many times by several people, mostly by my step-dad. I wish I told somebody, anybody, who could really have helped me and gotten me out of there. My friends knew (my close girl friends knew because he hit on them, too) but nobody said anything to any authorites or doctors or anybody. That’s one thing I regret. Because now the bastard has gotten away with it, and I’m stuck where I am in life. Everyday I was treated like I wasn’t good for anything except chores, sex, and looking pretty. I still have to convince myself everyday that I’m not just some stupid woman… That I’m also good at art and music and science and sewing and understanding people and psychology. I also have to convince myself everyday that even though I am smart, that I’m not wasting my potential by working a shitty job and not going to school. Maybe my story isn’t as awful as some other people’s out there, I’m not physically disabled or mentally ill to the point where I’m in a psych ward 24/7. I’m not homeless living on the streets, prostituting, or on drugs. But I still haven’t figured out the real question in my life… Why did he hurt me so bad? Why did my mom not care? I’m still haunted by my demons every day. I have to live with this everyday for the rest of my life. For now, I’m continuing to live because I’m doing everything I can to make sure nobody else gets hurt like I did.
Thanks for listening to my story. I just needed someone to listen.
I just have to kill myself. I have to kill myself. I have to kill myself. I have to kill myself. I have to kill myself. I have to kill myself. I have to kill myself. I have to kill myself. I have to kill myself. I have to kill myself.
There’s no way around it. It’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s what is ment to happen to me.
Depression is kicking my ass right now.
I feel fat and ugly (I’ve never felt really bad about my appearance before. It’s like when I look in the mirror, I see the fat 12-year-old I once was. Now I feel that way even more, even though I understand fashion and makeup and hair even more than I did in high school.)
And I feel worthless no matter what. My parents treated me like shit for 19 years, all they ever taught me is that all I’m good for is sex, chores, and looking pretty, and that nothing I ever do is good enough. Well, thanks a lot. Because now every day I feel like all I’m good for is sex, chores, and looking pretty, and I’ll never even be good at those things. And the things I guess I am good at (like art and music) don’t even mean anything in the real world.
So basically I’m a worthless piece of shit.
The physical symptoms of depression are kicking my ass, too. If I start to cry, automatically I get a headache. I get headaches even if I don’t cry.
I know for a fact that my digestive system is fucked up. Nausea, heartburn, indegestion, upset stomach, diarrhea. (I should be a pepto bismol spokeswoman, goddammit. Lol.) Luckily I haven’t thrown up at all, but I still get stomach pains if I go on an empty stomach, gas, and (I’m trying not to make this sound gross, but I figure someone out there has to relate to me) but trips to the bathroom are never Â fun. I’ve had stomach pains in the past because I was depressed, but not all of these other symptoms, too.
I’m beginning to wonder if I have IBS. I will be the fourth generation in my family to have digestive problems. Joy.
Oh, and not to mention I think of ctb every single day. And I want to cut, even though I’ve rarely done it in the past.
I know I’m kind of ranting, but these are things I just gave to get off my chest.
“I no longer know where my life is heading, i wish i can say, but i cant. Just don’t be surprised if one day, everyones wish will come true, and ill disapear and never be seen again.”
I had the idea quite awhile ago that I will get a tattoo to represent each thing that has saved my life and kept me alive. I already have my first tattoo, which is the beginning of this process. That way, when I look at the tattoo, I’m reminded of why I’m alive.
Here’s my list, starting with the bigger influences and moving on to the little things. Keep in mind that I come up with new ideas once in awhile.
1. Copper, my basset hound from when I was a kid. That dog was my baby, she passed away when I was 16. I have her name tattooed on my lower left leg.
2. My grandmother. Every time I was treated like shit by my parents, I ran to her and she reminded me that “this too shall pass.” Which is what I want to get tattooed on my back or my right shoulder blade. She also taught me how to sew, an art form that has kept me alive…
3. Art has kept me alive. I love anything to do with creating works of art, from drawing and coloring to sewing, fashion, painting, music, singing, playing instruments, sculpting, origami, writing, photography, filming, you name it.
4. I’ve played piano since 5th grade, I want to get a tattoo how piano and music has kept me going in life.
5. My favorite band, My Chemical Romance. Call me stupid for getting a tattoo of a band that may not be popular later, but I look at it like something that has kept me alive. I want to get this tattoo on my right foot or ankle.
(moving on to smaller stuff, not sure if I want to get tattoos of these)
6. Disney movies. just pop in an old princess movie in the VCR, and all of my problems go away for about 90 minutes. Right now, for the past 2 days I’ve been contemplating my suicide, when I put Beauty and the Beast in the DVD player. all of a sudden I forget everything. honestly its really only Disney movies (and similar animated movies like Shrek and Anastasia) that take me away. regular live-action movies don’t do that for me.)
7. One of my friends (won’t say his name on here) has talked me out of killing myself several times, on occasions where I’m on the verge of doing something drastic. I would just get his initials tattooed very small in a place I can hide easily, if I were to get that tattooed. I’m not sure.
That’s mostly it, for now. I can’t kill myself until I get a tattoo for each of these things, at least the major things.
Call me a damsel in distress. Call me a baby.
But I just can’t stand going to sleep at night, with out knowing someone is there for me. I get so depressed, I need someone there. Some nights I’m ready to scream.
I have friends, but they can’t always be there. I’ve had boyfriends, but I don’t have anyone atm who can stand by me.
I can be strong during the day. But in the middle of the night, that’s when things come back to haunt me.
I got into a car accident today, driving through the city on the expressway and a semi truck rear ended my tiny car twice, before driving away.
I’ve been so depressed lately, not to mention I’ve been depressed my whole life. I’m just not sure how much stress I can take. I’m just so tired. I’m tired of everything.
Now I can’t go to sleep without seeing the truck hitting me.
Physically, I’m not injured. But I can’t go to bed without beginning to scream and cry.
This is just another thing on top of all the other boring shit I have to put up with every day.
I just don’t care about life anymore. I really don’t. I have a plan to kill myself if things don’t work out in my life.
I care about my friends and family members, but somehow I don’t care if I hurt them by taking my own life. I don’t know why. I’ll be at peace. And I’m planning on spending as much time with them as possible until that point.
So I kind of have a plan of what I’m going to do.
My life is worthless just sitting around, working my crappy retail job and not being able to pay my bills. I really want to go back to school and get a degree in something, but I don’t have the money, or the grades to get a scholarship.
So, I’ve decided to join the army or army reserve. That way, I can go to school, I’ll have a place to live, I’ll go through fat camp and boot camp so I won’t be such a fatass anymore, I’ll have a job which I’ll get paid for, everything will be taken care of.
I’ll either enlist after Christmas, or after my 21st birthday in June. By then I’ll have my car paid off, and I can sell it. Also I will be able to celebrate my birthday with my friends, not by myself far away from all the friends I love.
I’ll quit my job in retail, then I’ll give myself a week or two to relax, get all my shit together before I leave, and visit each of my friends one last time, before I go off and don’t see them again for awhile. Then I’ll get my stuff taken care of in the army, and I’ll be on the track to doing something with my life.
If, for whatever reason, this doesn’t work out, I have a plan.
I’m going to kill myself.
kind of bored, kind of depressed. anybody wanna talk?
AIM/yahoo IM: artzygrl1919
If you want someone to talk to…
email me cute copper19 @ hotmail.com (no spaces)
IM me (AIM and Yahoo!) artzygrl 1919 (no spaces)
My parents wouldn’t care if I killed myself. I know they wouldn’t. They’ve put me down and abused me for so many years, why should they care? I want everybody to know the shit that they did to me. If they show up to my funeral and start to mourn me, I hope everybody there treats them like shit because it’s all their fault and they have no right to miss me when all they did was abuse me for years. I’m tired of being treated like all I’m good for is sex, chores, and looking pretty.
IT IS YOUR FAULT.
I wish I had lived with my grandparents as a kid, if I did I wouldn’t be here right now whining like a baby, crying how I wish all of my pain would end.
I’m able to end it, the only matter is when should I do it.
They say that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. But what if your problem isn’t temporary? What if you have depression or an illness or whatever for years and it will never ever go away?
Years ago, I read a magazine article about a girl who committed suicide, and she went on a website that supported her. Of course, they didnâ€™t name the site. But I have recently discovered itâ€¦
Here is the remains of the site:
Here are websites that I have found in connection with ASH:
why do i randomly feel like i want to kill myself?