Everything I try doesn’t give me any meaningful happiness.
A friend gave me a wrist band that said “do what makes you happy.”
All I want to do is die.
I watched some clip someone posted about a person who jumped off the Golden Gate bridge and lived to regret it.
When I’ve made my mind up about something, it’s very hard to change it, because I spend a very long time thinking about something before making a determination.
I don’t want to be alive.
There are some things that do not change.
I can hope, but I don’t see the pain letting up.
Another thing, I hate to hear of this assumption that people who want to die hate themselves.
I’ve never hated myself.
I reached a point where I hated what people were doing to someone I loved. I hated how they treated me. I hated their outright hypocrisy.
I don’t have it in me to say publicly that they might as well have killed me themselves.
I find myself thinking “I would never” a lot.
I would never treat someone like that, much less someone I had said I loved. What do I owe anyone by being alive when I was not given protection when I was in danger, without a home?
I’m just waiting for my opportunity.
There’s nothing here for me.
My friendship is going to shit along with my energy, mentality and grades. I got an A- and B+ last semester. Now my family has done away with another friend.
I f*cking can’t stand how much I loathe them for finding new ways to make me unstable. Kicking me out after my parents divorce and backing it up with lies. My sister slept with my friend and lied about it, they start a relationship and after she broke up with him, he wouldn’t come over so we started drifting. Still friends, but more distant. Same time, my step sister hooks up with my best friend and then later they break up, and banished from dad’s the same week as my sister and my friend. Then my step sister hooks up with my best friend again a year later (she’s sex-positive and polyamorous) and banishes him again because he told a joke that offended her.
I don’t know if I should dump my friend of 20+ years because it seems whatever I have is just something my sisters take and dispose of. I don’t have money to go out all the time to see my friend. I am invisible in this. It’s hard having chronic pain, and it’s hard having romantic relationships on top of that when you’re gay- my friends mean everything to me. My family has seen me kicked out over 6 times post-divorce and I was made to feel homeless. I deal with religion all over again with a step-mom that believes in conversion therapy and shares Kim Davis beliefs that I should never be able to marry.
I was already suicidal with this horrible pain, and now I feel totally alone. I don’t even want to try because it’s all amounted to so much wasted effort. Theres so much to elaborate but bottom line, f*ck everyone and especially my family. I can’t wait to die, I really can’t.
I remember keeping abuse quiet.
I remember it showing its head anyway, and who turned a blind eye.
I remember when I died.
I remember realizing my family did not care what happened to me, again and again.
I remember when choice was taken away from me, again and again.
I remember when I denied survival sex.
I remember when my body didn’t physically feel like a fire.
I remember when I could look at someone and not see another world of possibility falling apart.
I remember being at places that did not feel like fire.
I remember feeling like there was a point to that.
Having the tank handy has given me the peace of mind to get me through the past year.
Recently decided to do more research and found out it’s “no less than 80% helium” as they’re trying to conserve.
I’m not in such agony that I will do anything. I just want the security to know I have an exit for when things get bad.
I really favored this method, but now I’m more uncertain.
Hi. I’m the rug.
I’m in pretty significant pain today, but something new, my family is also screwing me out of what little money I manage to save up.
I lent my sister 1k a while back.
Rather than paying me, she paid my mom, and told me I could get it back from her- which we all know isn’t true.
My mom has bought an in-ground pool during a semester where she screwed me out of paying a third of my college semester, and now she has taken out a second mortgage on the house.
She threatened to kick me out again over something as silly as wearing a black work shirt for another day, so I knew something was up. The next day, she asks me for 2k ASAP.
I have 4k saved up, and I don’t know what I will do with it.
I never go anywhere, and have no aspirations. I just build this cushion, and get bled dry of it, I guess.
I don’t know what to do.
My dad won’t hold my sister accountable for paying me what she owes me, and she makes much more than I do. She lives with my mom, and now she’s planning on going to Italy.
Money isn’t really a thing to me compared to the pain, and even that isn’t really the root cause, it’s just my worst symptom.
This family fucked me up so much in adolescence, and now it’s just continuing on into young adulthood. I don’t think this older generation realizes that this generation isn’t just suffering financially, but being a dependent can be psychologically damaging as well.
Now my dad is willing to pay for my doctors visit, but part of me- to his surprise and mine- doesn’t want to go!
Because I don’t have the money, and I don’t want to take what I don’t have.
Because DARWIN, as odd as that may sound.
Because, if I’m honest, there’s something very honest about this disease.
I’ve found I haven’t had any symptoms when I’m at work. It’s just when I’m stressed AT HOME. I can no longer physically handle my mother, which makes me feel that I should not have had to handle her when it was only emotionally and psychologically damaging, either.
….maybe I should go anyway, and take the lesson it’s given me. I still want to die if I don’t get better, but my mind has brought me to a place where I feel as though that wouldn’t be a bad thing.
I don’t know if this is even making sense to anyone else but myself. It’s all kind of messed up.
I kept telling myself I would do it.
First I smoked some bud. Then I grabbed my backpack, drove to a parking lot along the river.
I crossed the railroad tracks, and tied the backpack straps around my waist as I made my way to the water.
I was still wearing nice shoes, but I figured it wouldn’t make any difference, so I waded in the water.
I had every intention of doing this. I stood there, having blocked any thought of turning around. I took another step forward, feeling my leg sink into the soot deeper than I thought. My heart raced.
I was able to calm myself. It was peaceful, high, and I realized I had no physical pain in this moment.
I reevaulated. I didnt want to regret having chickened out. I wanted this all to end. I still don’t know if I should have. I just feel it wouldn’t make any difference. I can always die later, and if I escaped pain in that moment, maybe there are still things to try. At this point, it still wasnt too late to turn back.
It sank in that I wouldn’t be following through today. I wasnt emotional, anxious, lost in though, empty- I just felt kind of disappointed. As I was about to turn across the train tracks, I saw a couple walking a dog, going towards the spot I had just left.
People are everywhere, it’s awful.
It seems it turned out to be a good idea to turn around in any case. I will need to think of a new spot, or I will need to remember how terrifying that step was.
I still am not sure, but I’m sure my resolve will strengthen one way or the other. Something must give.
Physically trapped, I mean. In many ways I still feel trapped, but I digress.
I took time out of work for my urethritis pain. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I told my higher up everything, from chlamydia back in the start of 2014, to now just having this pain. She was very understanding, and suggested I go to Doctors Express. I did.
From there, I again told this doctor everything, but perhaps unsurprisingly she wasnt being all that helpful. Id pee in a cup again, I’d hear Im all clear, I know the drill. I began feeling frusterated, disparaging my eurologists office, and how it’s so difficult simply getting an appointment “Id be better off offing myself”.
Okay, so it was a bit more of a definitive statement than that, but here I did feel I was at the end of my rope.
She pitched this sort of decision for me that if I said I didnt mean that, I could get help at a facility that could help me, or perhaps this is where I misunderstood.
I did tell her of course I didnt mean it.
Not long after she left the room, a cop shows up, and now Im pressed with either saying I DID mean it, and getting help, or reaffirming I didnt and continue with my eurologists lousy staff.
I said I didnt, but what would be the implications if I said I did? They said “none”. I decided what the hell did I have to lose? Turns out, a lot.
I got shipped in an ambulance, processed in and was monitored by a cop. I couldn’t leave if I wanted to under some statute- I cant remember. Of course, I should have realised. I got to talking about the cost of an MRI, eventually concluded it was not worth everything Ive managed to save in cash, and from there did a 180 to get out of there. I sincerely apologized for wasting their time, I was just so frusterated with the healthcare system that I said something extreme. The behavioral specialist seemed to understand all this.
For a while, I wasnt sure if I was going to leave. I began to panic, seeing cops, nurses, and this awful hospital where I was being confined. Whenever Im upset, I want to be alone, and it felt as though my independence was being stripped.
An already long story short, after about 3 hours, I was discharged- having no history of hurting myself, and no one else they could talk to.
I dont know how any of you feel about this, but I feel like depression shouldnt be made into this sort of crime. The only reason I feel it is is because it’s simply not profitable. If you WANT to be protected, well then alright, but if you feel as though suicide is a considerable option given how your life has turned out, this country will not hear that. They will take that option away from you, and put you away.
Silly of me to have forgotten that
I was just desperate for some medical answers.
I didnt recieve any hope from these doctor visits, though I know have Cymbalta, so there’s that.
I’ve decided on a way to go. I know I’m not allowed to share. What I’m stuck on is the note, or if I need one. I’ll think on it on my way to work, or in the waiting room, and it eats at me like another inevitable arguement- but of course, this time there wouldnt be.
So why leave a note? They should know of what plagues me if they listened, and if they haven’t, fine. What of the other reparations.
Can I just have everything monetized, perhaps give half to a friend, and half to some gay charity? I’m not sure how to write a will. I’ll have to look that up.
I think “becoming a tree” idea rather than a casket sounds ideal, but whatever is inexpensive. I dont see the need to go all out for a funeral.
Other than throwing some things out in my room, and returning a dvd I borrowed, I think that’s it.
This starts from where I left off, I will try to be brief. I especially don’t like to dwell on this, though I often don’t have much of a choice.
I got chlamydia from a guy. I tried to be safe, but I won’t go into those details.
I suffer from urethritis, which isn’t contagious. It just means I still experience irritation daily, but not all the time.
I don’t know how much of this is his fault. I didn’t hear this from him, but I was told by his ex that he was sexually abused as a child. Then he got kicked out during the time I had known him. I had gotten kicked out at varying points too. It’s just a fact that more gay people experience homelessness, sexual abuse, and suicide.
I remember my father saying “so youre going to become another statistic” at some point regarding depression and suicide. How easy it is to make a symptom into the cause itself. As if I just decide to be depressed, and being denied a stable environment (or a home at all) shouldn’t be depressing.
My father also said “well you weren’t HOMELESS homeless”. I get a kick out of that. If they don’t recognize how hurtful it is to have no place to go, with no rhyme or reason for why this is happening, then they don’t deserve a son. Now that Ive become more established, I see they’re trying to smooth things over.
For better or worse, I can’t move on, because this pain won’t leave me. I can put on a good face when I can, but when the pain comes, it still has significance to me.
If this pain doesn’t go away, I WILL hold my parents responsible for what happens to me. I knew something bad was going to happen- I called it. The abuse continued. It wasnt sexual or normally physical, but it’s given me a different outlook. I feel like an oddity, and I’d like to speak more on that on a later post.
Mainly, I don’t feel a depression that is vulnerable or insecure. I feel resentment. I feel like my death would have a reason. And no, I never wanted to be a statistic, but up until this point, I never had a say, and I have been a statistic nontheless.
I can’t tell the difference between what is ‘reasonable’ and ‘depressed’ most of the time. Has anyone ever read a journal entry years ago? How does it make you feel? When I was a teenager, I would look back a year or so and feel positively embarrassed.
If I look now, I feel something else. I don’t feel so many years prouder. I feel sadness, and resentment. I didn’t make it out.
Ah, typing this, I’m afraid I don’t sound much different at all.
Alright. Let’s get this out before I waste any more of your time. I’m a gay guy. If this upsets you, scroll on by.
I won’t dwell on this. I’ll surmize it by saying from about age 14 to 18, I went from easily supressing a slight suspicion that I might be gay, to actively surpressing it, and eventually became an introspective space-case. I was taking anti-depressants.
Then I came out.
Had a great relationship.
Boyfriend went back to college the summer of senior year, and we mutually broke it off…so did my parents. Oh, my parents…
The main thing is from this point on, I would be kicked out twice a year. I was fine with my parents divorce, but my mother really did a number on me mentally. I would be kicked out for any contradiction that she could imagine.
I could list examples if youre interested- there’s 6 or 7 times to pull from.
Sometimes my dad would take me in, but not always. My mother would invariably want me back, heartsick, asserting that she never once kicked me out, but that I RAN AWAY. Eventually I told her if she did it again, I wouldn’t come back. Of course she did. I lived out of my car for two months, going to work during that time. Eventually I returned again, sucking it up. If the sky turns purple, and I’ve got to go for whatever reason, she can do that. Even if I can convince someone to believe what actually happened, no one will ever do anything about it. I eventually just didn’t have love for my family.
Even though I wasn’t being kicked out for being gay, essentially I am a homeless gay teen statistic. I actually dated a homeless gay, feeling empathy, which isn’t quite love traditionally speaking, but it’s close. Mainly, I thought I was preparing for what my life would be.
With every time I was kicked out over a spill I mopped up, or what have you, I grew more resentful. I met someone who had that, too. He wasnt homeless- not when I met him. I saw something in him I saw in myself, but couldn’t express as readily. I tried to take care of him. He was the only guy I’ve ever said “I love you” to, although he had fallen asleep. This guy would ruin my life.
I’ll continue this another time. I’ve gone on long enough.
I like the idea behind this site, but I’m trying to keep my expectations low before I spill my guts.
Can anyone see my email address? I rarely use it, but I noticed I had to supply an email for here and Gravatar in order to get my avatar.
I’m also curious about how big and how active this community is.
I look forward to getting to know some of you, and maybe posting more about myself in the future.