Hello there. My name’s Jessica. My age, ill say is under an adult, by far. Any ways, im here to tell you. if there is any listeners. i suppose not. but i will go on. im at quite a young age, and im very depressed. i was led to fall in love with this amazing girl. yes, girl. and she played to love me bakc for a while, and i had to sit there and watch her get like 3 different boy friends and after each one crushed her i was there to lean on for a bit. and that was that. i got so depressed from loving her and not being able to have her thatÂ i just shut down, emotionally, physically, everything. i stopped caring, i sucked at soccer, my room was a toxic dump, my apparance wasÂ trashed and i started cutting my self, daily. my mom kept accusing me of looking like i was on drugs and being miserable all the time. my group of friends put me out. and i was alone for a while before i met that girl i loved. every thing was going wrong. my dad called me fat and i was getting fatter and fatter every day, he’s a havy alchoholic (sometimes) and can get rough with my mother but not a lot of the time. more so in the past. myÂ sister moved out for a time which also contribuited with the cutting. she also made me fell worthless. i felt like shit most of the time. i had no oneÂ to love and i totall of like 3 “friends”. but anyways, i’ve contiplated suicide many times. i’ve thought about OD and hanging myself, but iÂ just couldnt. i feel like my life sucks tho. we are strugguling to keep our house, i’ve been beaten a little by my sykotic mother, who claims shes fine and IM THE SYKO ONE. They also think i may have bipolar disorder or something. i ffeel like shit. and as for the girl, i still dont got her. every one calls me a freak at school and i feel no love. thats all i want love. i need it. and im just not getting any. not from any one. not now not ever. and thats why i want to just go away.im done. and i cant take it anymore.
I just ate something that I really don’t feel like throwing up. I’m just sitting here, not knowing what to do. And its not just for the moment. It’s not knowing what to do with my life. Who says I can’t play God with my own life? Nobody. I already have a huge bag full of aspirin in my room. I have a bottle of soda too. I know it probably won’t work like theÂ two other times I tried it, and I will just silently throw up my guts in the bathroom while everyone is sleeping.
I read the one comment I got on my other post. It told me not to feel sorry for myself. Good advice. But, what you all need to realize is that I don’t feel sorry for myself. I feel sorry for everyone else. I’m not stuck in here with them, they’re stuck in here with me. Everyone else is so much better than me and doesn’t even know it. Hell, even my douchebag of a brother is better than me. Why? Because he is some of the dirtiest scum on earth I have ever seen… but at the end of the day he can look at himself in the mirror and likes what he sees. He’s happy. He can live with himself while I struggle to even write this post because I re-write every other sentence, thinking that what I’m saying is redundant and that if anyone will read this let alone care about it.Â They will probably tell me to shut up andÂ stop feeling sorry for myself. Well, I’m sorry to you all for having to pretend to care about all the shit I write and complain about. Real sorry.
You know, before all of my suicide attempts, I had this baseline to this song stuck in my head. It would play whenever I would get sad or would feel depressed. And before all of my attempts, it was like it was blasting inside my head with an amplifier. Don’t know how that relates to the post, just felt like writing it.
I used to do well in school, getting A’s all the time. Making my parents happy.
I then fell in love, and being in love with someone who doesent return the favor, is tiring.
Im emotionally and physically tired, and i just want to sleep.
I want to sleep forever. Which sounds weird, because i know death isnt like sleeping, i wont be dreaming, i will just be dead.
But that sounds the closest i can get to the feeling i want.
Im trying so hard to be what everyone wants me to be.
But I know i just let everyone down.
Im tired. And i think.
Its time to rest.
I guess ill start by stating the facts… Im currently 17, I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when i was 4, fell into a deep depression in the 6th grade, and am still feeling depressed. although i manage to have an outward appearance of being fine, im not. I was also recently diagnosed with severe POTS… some shitty thing where my blood pools in my legs, so i have a high heart rate but low blood pressure. If i compare my life to others, i know its damn fine. I have a loving mother and three loving sisters. My dad loves me in his own way, but he has some mental issues like that ass burgers thing (dont know how to spell it). ive never been made fun of, and have about two solid friends and some other good ones.
Problem is when im feeling really down i feel like they dont really see me as a friend, that they use me, because im so kind, and seem to have a natural ability to work with computers and stuff like that. i mod there consoles for free, fix them when they break, help them with any internet problems or computer crap. They appear to be amazed that i can do all that, but all i do is look stuff up on google…
Anyways, ive been seeing a counseler since 7th grade, and my diabetes hasnt been going well since summer of 1999. School is a huge struggle for me. I dont see a point in most the stuff we learn. This year went particularly bad, and now im working on four classes over summer. Im in a constant spiral downwards with random uplifts. Whenever i start “getting better” i just fall back down 10x harder. Ive been on a countless number of drugs but none of that shit helps. Whenever i think about the world, i realize how shitty everything really is. Oh, and to top is off, im extremely shy, so i cant even bring myself to let my close friends know who i like… it kills me at night thinking about her…
Please dont talk to me about religion. While yes i think there is some greater thing or power, i think anyone that believes it gives a shit about them thinks mighty highly of themselves. I think some major religions were made up so those people had a “righteous” reason to kill and steal, and take over places. its all bullshit. I say fuck you if you think your that high and mighty that something that made the whole god damn universe cares about you, a tiny piece of shit… there is just way to many holes and gaps in all these religions
Sorry bout the religion rant… Anyways, i just wish there was some way to make it all stop. If i could, i would dream the rest of my life away, for my dreams are my own world (i can lucid dream) but no, i always have to wake up to do this and that. I want to die, to have my peace, but i have no means of ending my life painlessly. I dont fear death, i fear pain, which i think may be true for most people. If any one knows of a truely painless way, id be glad to know, but i guess for now ill just trudge through life.
And please no one post any of that shit about “God has a plan for everyone” or something… id love to see you say that to the holocaust and other genecide victims that are now dead… O and im pretty sure the devil thing was made up so some shitty people would have an excuse for their crimes and evil ways. Also i wouldnt be surprised if the bible was just some book someone wrote as a story for fun… Damn i hate religion!
Oh and im writing this at 3:30 am so sorry for any mistakes!
I’m not even sure what to write here, but I guess I’ll start with why I feel like killing myself. I have a sister and parents and you’d think we were a normal family. Instead, I hate my parents so much. I love my sister but she doesn’t love me. I love her so much and above all that makes me want to die, knowing she doesn’t love me. When she was 12 our father sexually molested her. I don’t know what happened; I don’t really know anything. This went on until she was 15 and a family friend found out, and put a stop to it. My mother never did anything about it. The family friend’s family knew about it, my mother then knew, but it was decided that I shouldn’t know: so that I could grow up with a father. But I did find out (one of the family members told me), and I became really afraid. I wanted so badly to comfort my sister, to ask her if it was true; I didn’t want to believe it. But everything seemed so normal. There was no hint at all that it had happened. So I tried to forget about what I was told, not believing it. It hung over my head, always in the background, for 5+ years. But then a year ago my sister told me (complicated story, but that’s what happened) and I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to kill my father so much. I hate him! This on top of everything else he’s done to me and her! I hate my mother, too, for never protecting us and even when she knew what he’d done she stayed with him. I still can’t believe it, and I don’t know what to do, don’t know how to deal with this. I love my sister so much and I remember when we were so close, but my father took that away. Without getting into details, I still live with my parents, and I know for a fact that their toxic influence is what makes me want to die so badly.
They never loved me. They always thought I was weird and cold. They never even tried to understand me. I am a loner by nature but that doesn’t mean I don’t care or have feelings or don’t want relationships. I prefer close, few relationships, and am content by myself for long stretches of time. Instead they call me a bat, or a mole, and my father even called me mechanical. When I’m in pain they say it’s normal and to get over it (talking about physical pain here) and don’t offer support when I’m upset. If I came home from school (which I hated) and said I had a bad day I’d get yelled at. My mother would yell at us all the time when we were younger. My father always let her yell at us.
I don’t know, it would take me forever to write what they’ve done to me and my sister. Basically I wish they would die, I wish it wasn’t this way, or I wish I was dead. It hurts me so much that my sister never trusted in me, or confided in me, or sought help from me. I would die for her, and she just abandoned me and spiraled out of control by herself.
If I had someone that cared about me for me, I would be so happy. That would be enough to make me keep trying my hardest to live my life the best. But instead all my friends couldn’t care less about me (and I suspect secretly dislike me, but keep me around so they aren’t alone), my sister probably secretly hates me for not suffering what she’s suffered, and my parents probably wish I was never born or that they’d had a different child.
Right when I started to feel close to my sister again she instead hangs out with her new boyfriend all the time. Further proving she doesn’t care about me at all. I have no support at all but myself. If I was a weaker person I would already be dead. I have lived most of my life without love or help, and yet I keep living and doing what I need to. I am losing my grasp though. I can hardly focus enough to go to work and school. I’m trying to graduate and get a good job so I can move out. But then what? What does it matter? No one loves me, and no one ever can because I’m a freak. I wish I could be like other people, but I’m not, and I can’t ever be happy.
I just want one person. Just one, to love me. But I know I’ll never have that. It makes me want to die so bad. Obviously I love living, otherwise I would just kill myself and be done with it. Despite everything, I want to try to find some semblance of happiness. But it’s getting harder every minute of every day.
This is by far not my whole story, but it would take awhile to tell it all. I just wish that death wasn’t the only answer. I want to stop thinking, stop remembering, stop hating, stop loving, just stop feeling.
i was bored today, so i started looking around the site again. i haven’t poked around for a while now. as i was reading people’s stories, i found myself envious of them. i think i know why. some of the people here- correction, MANY of the people here have already attempted suicide. and i am jealous. it’s not just in this online world, it’s in my reality too. it seems ok for everyone else to break down, but not me. a kid i had known for years hung himself in the week before his bar mitzvah. we saw my neighbor get carted out of her house one night after slashing her wrists. one of my friends just revealed that she has been on antidepressants for the last few months. another friend who hasn’t been in school this semester told me that he hadn’t been expelled, he had been hospitalized back in february following a complete breakdown. and just last weekend yet another friend scared us all by threatening suicide, and blaming one of my best friends for causing it. i am being crushed under the weight of everyone else’s secrets, and torn apart by the wish that i could just fall apart like them. i have felt suicidal for the last five years, on and off. i am only sixteen, i can’t deal with this much emotion. every time i try to show this a little to my parents, to maybe get some help, they say how can i be this upset, since my life has been “perfect” and that so-and-so had it so much worse. how much closer to the edge do i have to slip for me to qualify worthy of helping? how much worse do i have to get to finally let go like everyone else?
” I’ve often thought of suicide as my anwser. But now i regret it. I Slit my wrist way to deep all the blood rushes from my gentle body as i lay crimped up on the floor i wonder if anyone even cares. My funeral was horrible no one even bother to release a tear. not one. No one came to claim me as there’s. No boys seem to take a look when i walk by they just go on&on about the measly lives of theÂ tiredness of the others with in the room. No counselor seems to listen when i scream at the top of my lungs i die silently with the screams falling from my innocent body. The times i wonder around in this unforgotten world. My world burns up as i’m trapped with in. I lay wake until the dawn of time comes to relive me ofÂ my great pain. as i fonder whether to tell anyone now. Its all kept hid from my unwanted life. The Times i walk in the streets the timesÂ I lay there unnotticed. The times i’ve given up on life. The Times i left the buliding that hurt me so much, The life i once had is all OVER>!
I don’t want to live anymore, it’s that simple…
I am a dreamer, and throughout difficult times in my life, I always had this light pulling me toward better days.
I am now 35, depression has always been a part of my life, and I am feeling exhausted.
I lost everything, I am left with nothing.Â Building my life again would take me an incredible amount of strength that I do not have at this point.
I know what is the core of my endless suffering: I simply need love.Â But that cannot be done consciously, and when I have truly loved, I have always lost.Â I cannot keep going like this.
I feel people around me settling down, building families, getting promotions, and realizing their dreams, and I am left on the side of the road…
I should have known better – and I think I actually did – my uncle committed suicide when I was 9, my father was absent, my mother was harsh and abusive.Â What kind of fairy tale was I expecting?
I wonder why all this is happening to me… I am not a bad person, why was I chosen to go through this hell?Â Why so much pain?Â And why giving me these brief instants of joy to take them from me again?
I am done…
I wish I could give my body to science, that way I would have had a use in this life.Â But I feel so rotten inside, I don’t want any part of me to keep on living in someone else, I feel the darkness would keep on prospering, and it’s about time that it stopped.
I am hoping my sister will take care of my dog, that’s all I have…
Going to have to figure out how to do it…
Slashing my wrists, getting in the bathtub, take sleeping pills and letting myself go… Probably in a hoitel room, so my parents won’t find me…
I am a 17 year old girl and I found this website while seeking least painful methods of suicide on Google.
If I had half an ounce of courage in my veins, I would damn painlessness and go out messily: off the edge of a building of with a bullet to the temple. I am, however, extraordinarily cowardly when it comes to agony. I would be inclined towards an overdose, but I hear that’s a horrible way to go – vomitting. I would inject some air into a vein, but where would I get the syringe? And I’m no fan of needles… In short, the recurrent thoughts of suicide are becoming more and more forceful. I have spent my entire life tired, dispassionate, drained. My life is nothing, means nothing is founded upon fumes which have no future. My life is not so terrible that I’m seeking to escape it, no – it’s not anything, and I am utterly, mortally weay of it. I’m ready for it to be done. I want to throw up my hands and walk out the doors, cash in my chips, a gambler who only wants to lose and be allowed to leave. I am done. Finished.
I have been to two different psychologists in the space of six months. They have both been sweet, kind and uniquely and extraordinarily useless. They tell me to put on a happy face, think my way out of my depression… but I imagine that if this was something I could think my way out of, I would have done it years and years and years ago. They have not given me medication. They have not offered a diagnosis. They have invited me into their offices, week after week, telling me to give a flippant account of my day and my work and my pastimes. They are damned useless.
Naturally, the iinstinctual part of me – devoid of emotion or humanism – is hell bent on survival. It urges me to tell the psychologists that I am actively contemplating suicide, and to undergo the fortnight of horrors of an involuntary psychological hold. My dearest friend tells me to do this. She is bi-polar and has been admitted once before. She says it saved her. I am too much of a coward to make the phone call, to be behind looked doors, to have to break the news to my parents. I am fairly certain it would kill them. I’m fairly certain it would end my academic career – they would find a way to remove me from university, to drag me back home again under the guise of keeping me safe.
I am too cowardly to make the phone call. I am too cowardly too use a knife.
I never knew that the inbetween could be such a hellish, listless survival.
I realized I could kill myself at a young age. When I grew older, I realized that being suicidal brought attention. Even more older, I realized being suicidal would eventually alienate people. Eventually I realized, My feelings of suicide, were real, and instead of providing help, people would rather compare and challenge my problems with theirs, just to justify they were a bit more troubled than I was. I suppose that’s how my friends justified ignoring me.
I found that when my “symptoms” didn’t fit textbook examples of typical suicidal people, that psychiatrists started shortening my visits, yet still wrote out prescriptions. I found that only when taking these prescriptions in excess that I ever felt happy. I take anti depressants and anti anxiety meds like a junky.
I called suicide hotlines for help, and realized that these people must have one of the most depressing jobs ever, and on top of that, they don’t even get paid most of the time. It was ok, they weren’t any help, I never killed myself.
I watched the news the other day, and un-named news company, somehow was able to convince me our new president was going to make purchasing a gun harder. I don’t know why, but I bought a $600 M&P 9mm. humorously, I’m afraid to use it, cause I’m just not into guns. but now I’m afraid I own a gun.
I am 23 years old. I was never disciplined, so now I have no job, no job experience, and I still live with my mom. My mom is dying of lung cancer, due to 40+ years of smoking. The cancer in inoperable and she will not tell me anything else about it. Yesterday she “theoretically” hinted at 2 months.
I am afraid of people. When I am with more than 2 people I freak out. The only time I get social is when I drink. I drink too much and too fast. I have been kicked out of 3 bars multiple times. Last time I tried stealing one of the deck chairs from the patio, the bouncer stopped me and pushed me to the ground. I covered my head and yelled at him to kill me. When He refused to hit me I called him a *****. My friends got me out before the cops were called.
I just read a really stupid website about dealing with suicide. It told me to buy some books. Now I’m writing this blog entry, I haven’t read any of yours, nor do I want to.
i sit at school in the computer lab and all i can think to do i look up things on suicide.Â I always find pictures and stories and more and more ideas just go through my brain.Â Im so sick of my life and i want to be dead. I cant do anything right, i have no friends, my parents hate me , and i have no future.Â I think tonights the night.Â i just want to get it over with. i can’t wait to get home and finish it once and for all!
Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Everything hurts. The secrets I can’t tell anyone, and no one cares at all. Who do I turn to? How do I say the words to someone, someone I trust, that is going to make them understand? Who would I tell? WhoÂ can I trust? How do I get even one minute with them only three days before school is out? I’m going to die this summer. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t stand my life anymore, my mind… I have secrets that are killing me, literally. I’m going to die because I can’t take knowing the things I know. And even if I did summon the courage to tell someone, I’ll just hate that someone knows something about me like that who won’t be around forever. What do I do? And why can’t I find any answers? This hurts. The emotional pain is merging with the physical side of me, and I can’t stand it anymore. What other option is there for relief other than death? I have to die. I just hope suicide really won’t send me to hell.
Since I was about 10 year old I have had suicidal thoughts. Up until about 15 minutes ago I was about to down a bottle of Advil pm and end it all.
This isn’t my first attempt at finding an answer or a cure to these feelings and thoughts on the internet. I’ve searched and read all the pleas and recovery stories. The thing is, I could never do it myself, at least I haven’t been able to. I get to the point where the pills or blade is in my hand and I can’t seem to finish. Some might say that is a good thing. I say I am weak.
And the topper is I don’t have a good reason. Most people have had real tragedy in their lives. Maybe someone in their lives, someone close to them, died. Maybe their parents split up when they were young. Most have been physically abused or have an incurable illness.
Not me. My parents have been together for 30 years. I am a 23 year old female with asthma. Just asthma. I’ve never ever have had anyone close to me die. I’ve never had a real broken bone, or have been in an accident. No one has ever touched me inappropriately.
The worse thing about my life is that my father has always acted like a child. He acts selfish and pouts when he doesn’t get his way. He has “tantrums” like a child and since I was little has always acted like a child.
I don’t know if that has anything to do with the way I am but it sure seems like it does.
You see, I have these out brakes. Sometimes they are small. But sometimes It involves broken glass and me punching my father in the face.
I think I might be bi-polor but we don’t have any money to find out.
I can’t seem to hold a job, not because I don’t do a good job, but I must do something that I am unaware of to make people make up ways to fire me. I am not exaggerating. I won’t explain further, because It would take such a long time, however, trust me. I have been fired three times for made up reasons.
On another note, I never keep friends either. I think I am a good friend, but I am not. I can not think of one person that I feel I could run to today.
Oddly enough, not even my fiance. Thats right. I have the love of life, in my life. I have met someone that loves me no mater what. However, I still feel alone.
As it is right now, I don’t have a job, the car I drive is actually my parents, I don’t have my own place because I still live in my parents house, in the basement. I owe over 18 thousand dollars in school loans. I went to community collage for a year and dropped out. Then I went to another college for a year, and dropped out. I get bored quickly. Oh yeah, I ruined my life. Because I have been in and out of job after job no one wants to hire me.
So as all of this culminates my father picks a fight. He sees a yellow towel that I used to clean my car and he insists that it is his. He insists and repeats so much that it irritates my very being. I told him over and over that it was mine, not his. Yet, he still repeats and rants. I told him if he says one more thing about it I will shove it down his throat. He continued, so I did.
I want to run away and end this life so bad I can taste the blood on my lips.
But where am I. Blogging on some web site. Leaving these words for people to read. What do I expect to get out of this. Nothing. Just time. Enough time that I have calmed down. My fiance has come home now. He knows what has happened and has held me. I am still feeling raw but I am trying to hide it.
Everyday, trying to hide.
If you saw me , met me, got to know me,Â the last impression you would get from me would be of suicidalÂ tendacies and an evergrowing dependency on otc drugs for helping me sleep or feel good through through the day.Â Basically I am well mannerred well behaived outwoodly happy like socialble enoughÂ to make you believeÂ imÂ basicallyÂ — ok..Â Â Â Â However,Â I dont rememberÂ the last time I was happy. Infact I dont remember evenÂ if I ever was happy.Â I no how to pretend to appear happy.Â Thats not happy though.Â I have had friends. Good friends with families that have helped me and i have helped them to no end.Â TheyÂ have all seperated. AndÂ fight so much and use their kids as the tugg o war rope.Â Â I no howit hurts the kids, how it is slowly erodingÂ their self esteem and self worth awayÂ -Â i read stories in this forumsÂ and byÂ kids the same age as theirs..Â and I knowÂ but cant help them .Â It tears me apartÂ Â butÂ im torn apart already and cannot help.Â Â And I cant helpÂ because DanÂ reallyÂ never has wanted to be hereÂ and for as long asÂ he can rememberÂ has always wanted to check out.Â OhÂ Dan is me by the way…
I cant be hereÂ and when im there I cant be thereÂ I cant workÂ cause I dont no from one day or another nowÂ if im going to be a crying wreck or a hyperactiveÂ superhappyÂ genius. And now i keep dissapearing cause I cant hide behind myÂ happy dan disguise, its old and worn out and leaks.Â Â But at lleast I keepÂ searchingÂ forÂ nice ways of dying.Â Anyway .Â Â Who knows – Â Ive been miserabe forever maybee I canÂ get the courageÂ end forever.Â Bundy rumÂ red Â Â gotta love it Â oh well
Huh, so I’m new to this whole website. I hope I put this in the right category, and didn’t miss anything vital.
(DISCLAIMER: I don’t know how to use paragraphs effectively!)
Anyway. Over the years I have read a lot of posts, heard a lot of arguments against suicide. Its been roughly 8 years since I seriously became suicidal. It started with the sadness, the depression. I felt bad about myself and my lot in life. The first three years was spent convincing myself that its okay. Now, I can accept death by my own doing.
I’m not really sad anymore. I’m pretty neutral. Which, I think, is pretty good. I’d rather feel dull instead of the weird roller coaster emotions that depression offered. But, I still accept death. I guess the reason I’m writing this is to hope for some unbiased comments. I do not want the people who are close to me to worry. I want any possible reason not to die, because I don’t have one. I have spent 8 years browsing other peoples blogs, forum posts, and comments, and still have yet to find a reason worthwhile to me. I do not want to die, I just don’t have any reason to live.
I’m going to attempt to give a pretty good background here. But I am sure I will miss some things. First of all, I really am not sad. I have friends around me frequently and activities to entertain me. I’d like to think I’m intelligent (despite some terrible writing flaws!). I do not believe in God – and this belief really will not change. My disbelief in God is as strong as my belief that I am indeed a male. No offense to those of you who are religious, of course. I am currently in a very good college. I am white, middle class. I am very open minded and an extremely logical thinker. Logical enough to rationalize suicide. I have been doing quite well in school until very recently, I have all but dropped out.
I do not feel sadness for others who commit suicide. I feel understanding. I feel proud, even. I am glad they were able to find their release. I know this is a very cruel thing to say – for that I apologize, I am not a cruel person. When I finally pull the trigger, which has gone off so many times in my mind’s eye, I hope that sadness does not follow. I do not want it marked down as a tragedy, but as a .. “triumph of human spirit”.
I have heard “How could you do that to the people you love, are you selfish?” (well, my response to this is: Is it more selfish for me to take the plunge, or for a bunch of people to ask me to continue to suffer and live in pain, when I don’t want to, just so they do not feel pain?)
And “Why not see a counselor?” Well, No. Sorry, but no. I do not want to live off of pills. It does not appeal to me.
I feel like my time is coming. Its a deep feeling in the gut. A realistic thought is June. An optimistic one is next May, a year from now. I’m growing impatient for it, in fact.
I know this message seems cold, or heartless. I read some of the recent posts on this website I happened to stumble over, and they were very emotionally charged. Apologies – thats not who I am. Hope this made sense, its been hard to keep any semblance of a ‘train of thought’ going lately. Well, thanks for your time.
I stumbled on here like most – ADHD-ing through web links.Â I see these posts and I am blown away by the talent I see – those who express themselves so wonderfully in words.Â ESPECIALLY the young ones!Â Poetry like my husband, who has tried suicide more than once.Â That is until a massive heart attack ‘killed’ him.Â He came back with terrible damage, but his poetry is something ‘not of this world’.Â I will give the web site below and everyone is invited to send in your wonderful sentiments – those of hope AND despair.
My husband now is the strong one – he is dying but is not afraid to die.Â I should be so lucky.Â To die, I have to do the ‘unforgiveable’, for my heart is relatively healthy.Â What a sick twist of fate.Â I have battled this demon far too long.Â First manifested at age 18 in a 10-year battle with an eating disorder, but the roots go far earlier than that.Â Sexual abuse from age 5, continuing into my adult years.Â Different men, none relatives.Â But no one heard my cry for help.Â No one wanted to hear it – likeÂ my parents.Â If I brought it up, I was told to ‘stop talking about it’ because it would upset the relatives of the perpatrator’.Â That SOB died in prison.Â In later years, I was called a liar, but most hurtful was being put in the place of the victimizer – not the victim.Â Â To this day, that is the story on my husband’s family grapevine – it was my fault.Â I have been locked in a closet,Â told by yet another it is no use to tell because HE had powerful connections.Â I went to join the military years ago, but then was raped by my recruiter, left stranded in an orange grove in the middle of the night, lost and wandering not unlike a recent episode of ‘Lie to Me’.Â That was not the last of occurances and those are buried so deep, I cannot even believe they are any trigger that brought me to where I am today.
Diagnosed with depression at 18 (then anorexia/bulemia) and I am now 50.Â With all due respect to any Psychiatrist or Psychologist, NOT A SINGLE ONE HELPED ME.Â NOT any psycotropic drug helped.Â My battle with anorexia ended after 10 years as fast as it started.Â No therapy.Â Hospitals were a joke.Â I simply woke one morning without the desire to starve, or binge and purge.Â That can only be the hand of God.
That was the last time He touched me.Â I spent the next 25 or more years outrunning the demons of depression, too scared to evenÂ take a nap because to do so during the day meant you were giving in, losing ground.Â I ran and ran, and I stumbled many times, but managed to pull out, to put it in the mental closet not unlike the closet my stalker had locked me in so long ago.Â A perfectionist, I went back to college while working full time.Â School full time and working full time, and I graduated Summa Cum Laude.Â A shooting star is all I see in retrospect.
The stessors of life became too much.Â My husband fell ill, then the massive MI that left me as sole provider of this household.Â My employer did not support my caregivingÂ efforts and I felt guilt because insurance claims impacted the company’s bottom line.Â Indeed, I would hear how our name was brought up at the annual insurance meetings and my heart sank and I saw the handwriting on the wall.Â My good job’s time was limited and I was powerless.Â I became manic for the first time in my life.Â My husband, diagnosed years before with (then) manic-depression a/k/a bi-polar, usually had manic episodes in the first days of our marriage.Â When depression would hit, it would be what I term as “deep six.”Â How I used to envy the manic,Â myself only knowing the depressed state and going through life in this damn fugue state.Â So when the manic did hit me in 2006, it was wonderful — or so *I* thought.
Apparently one’s perception is a bit skewed during these phases.Â My employer notated behavioral changes in my file, though never mentioned anything until the day I was terminated – over a year later.Â Never any mention of “hey, you might want to call our EAP for help.”Â I did not see I was in trouble until the day I lost control and hit the level of rage.Â You people who experience this know this feeling:Â Â it is as though you can stand beside yourself while yourÂ thisÂ Mr. Hyde and thereÂ is nothing you can do but watch.Â That finally ramped so high that myÂ husband made desperate call toÂ our doctor on a Sunday.Â He called in Geodon andÂ when IÂ googled what this drug was for, I went into anotherÂ rage.Â “IÂ am NOT some schizophrenicÂ having a psychotic break!” IÂ shouted.Â Still, I took a dose andÂ plummeted to earth.Â The doctor said theÂ ‘higher’ you are, the greater the side effect andÂ my reaction meantÂ I was in desperate need ofÂ the medication.
My short-lived manic phase was over.Â Â But more stressors came:Â my husband’s near death and disability.Â I was juggling all: caregiving, work (as programmer/analyst)Â a long commute, doctor appoinments, andÂ guilt.Â I let my own physical healthÂ (fibromyalgia) go for fear of losing my job.Â I cancelled all the MRI’s, CT scans, etc my doctor wanted to run.Â Joke on me -Â I lost my job in Sept. 2007 because “I was no longer competent to perform my job duties – mentally or physically.”Â Â I knew in my heart this day would come, but the reason rocked my world.Â Â HR’sÂ last words as I was escorted out: “At least now you can take this time to get some help for yourself.”Â Â My only thought was, “What theÂ hell did she mean by THAT?”Â I had no idea because I was beyond the point of recognizing for myselfÂ I was in trouble.Â I knew I had been forgetful of late, getting lost in familiar places, but nothing to warrant ‘imcompetent’ and ‘to get yourself some help.’
But others had noticed what I no longer was able to observe in myself.Â Â I would hear — too late — comments that backed up my employer.Â Where were you people when it mattered?Â When I maybe could have done something about it when I hadÂ the resources to get help?Â Â Now unemployed, I could not affordÂ COBRA and was denied insurance for medical reasons.Â No more medication for theÂ fibro or theÂ mental.Â By this time, the old Dx of depression was now bi-polar/personality disorder and the most recent: dementia.Â The latter brought on byÂ the many instances of head trauma perhaps.
Those with an eating disorder know the reason we fall into that hell:Â Â the need to feel we have SOME control.Â I lost my job, our income was gone, I had no prospects since I could not use my employer as any reference.Â Â My life was spiraling out of control and it was a death spiral.Â Nine months later, after soul-searching, I went to my doctor and askedÂ if he thought I should file for disability – a nightmare process I just did not want to endure.Â His response:Â “You HAVE BEEN disabled!”Â Again – thanks for the late news flash, doc.Â With that, I filed and nowÂ IÂ amÂ going through the denial/appeal/denial and wait the nextÂ level.Â But I cannot give DDS what they want without insurance.Â And without disability I can get no medical care, no medications.Â A deadly catch-22 the likes of whichÂ SSA and DDSÂ couldÂ care less.Â Â Â
I have exhaused my IRA long ago.Â Exhausted the last of my unemployment.Â There is no income and the bills grow.Â The house may well be lost.Â The power will be shut off next week.Â The phone – soon gone.Â My only method to reach out – this computer – will be cut off.Â Without meds, my body screams as loud as my mind in pain.Â Twice I have been pushed over the edge.Â The first, a betrayal of the worst when I discovered a Trojan virus my manager had planted on my PERSONAL computer back in the days HR notated my ‘behavior’, back when my manager asked me, “How much longer is all THIS going to go on?”Â “All this” meant my caregiving duties.Â I replied, “Until my husband drops dead, I guess.”Â I was outraged by his question and so responded in kind.Â That date – that same date – is the very date of the virus I found, with his initals on the file as author, creator, and owner.Â I guess he forgot his gem.Â A gem that allowed him full access to every single file in my computers.Â All rendered to him as a hyperlink.Â HeÂ turned my perosnal computers into his own web site.Â I was so angry, I reported it to CERT.Â Â But the good virus that it was self-destructed, taking BOTH computers with it.Â Â FBI needed the file, and I had nothing to give.Â My manager won.Â But the betrayal was more than I could bear and with that, I reached for the exacto blade and hit the sweet spot.
A mess, to be sure, but surely not as messy as a gun.Â And it takes a thousand-plus milligrams of valium to do yourself in.Â No way I could build a stash like that.Â That time, I pulled back and stopped the bleeding because I was afraid of Hell.Â But the scars remain and they are painful.
By January of this year we were destitute.Â I recieved my first denial – totally expected and even though I was living in the by-now familair darkness of major depression, I dialed for attorneys.Â And then came the second of the many straw that broke this camel’s back.Â I tried four and every one refused to take my case because I had no insurance.Â I guess they assumed I was not under ANY medical care, but I was seeing my doctor – if on rare occasions now.Â The last time was January where he discovered I had an enlarged heart.Â He ordered MRI’s of the brain, suspecting lesions or even tumor, but I told him I still was denied even Medicaid.Â He was outraged – he could not proceed with further Dx without knowing what may be going on in my brain.Â The dementia, the depresson could have organic explanations and he had to rule it out.Â He could not and here I sit.Â He also wanted more cardiac tests, but had to settle for the Echo of which I owe for that and is in collections.
The attorneys denying to even consult with me was a brick wall I never saw coming.Â This process is horrible enough, we are desperate, and every door was being slammed.Â After the fourth rejection letter, I again reached for the exacto blade (same as a surgical one).Â Hell was not on my mind – surely God would understand.Â I lay there (bucket by the bed) watching the life flowing out.Â I grew cold.Â I began to turn blue and lose feeling in my extremities. All that was left was to close my eyes and go to sleep.
Damn the logical part of our brain that kicks in.Â I had no life insurance – I was not worth anything dead or alive,Â and my husband had no money to deal with my remains.Â If I had the $100,000 I had while working, I cannot say I would be typing this today.Â Then my thoughts jumped to guilt:Â my husband’s heart would surely stop if he found me like this – ICD implanted in him or not.Â I could not do that to him.Â With that, I stumbled out of bed, put cold water over the incisions to stem the flow and wrapped them.Â I had lost several pints of blood, however.Â It was the closest I came.Â What will my mind argue NEXT time?Â Because that was February and now it is May and the financial problems loom larger; insurmountable.Â The stress is killing my husband, but his strong will and faith that made him survive SCD keeps him going.
I do not have his strength.Â I do not have his will.Â I cannot even say I have the faith.Â We have had rough times forÂ 10 years and our life makes the story of Job look like a vacationÂ in the Cook Islands.Â Job should walk in MY shoes.Â I have an issue with God, I am angry and I think it is justified.Â I have tried to help myself, I have lived life never harming, but being harmed.Â I have NEVER judged, but have been and still am judged by the high minded.Â I was told to leave my husband after his heart attack, that this catastophic illness would destroy us financially and myself as well.Â I refused:Â you do not walk out on 26 years of marriage becauseÂ you finally hit the worst of the worst.Â I gave it my all and I lost it all and I would do it again.Â The only differnce is I would gracefully exit when theÂ going was good.
I have been put in the free services of a psychiatrist for the first time since I was 18.Â One visit and he already has felt my wrath, but not before he called me an ‘eccentric genius.’Â “If you have money, you can be called eccentric, but when you have nothing, you are just plain nuts,” was my reply.Â A genius?Â I had to shoot down that theory by a couple notches.Â My husband is a 175 – freakish territory and explains HIS dysfunction and creativity.Â He is a right brain 175.Â I was a left-brain above average, but that was before the mental/cognitive degradation started.Â It accelerates.
I do not know what tomorrow brings any longer.Â My life is no longer mine and to lose complete control of every aspect of yourself, to lose your being is a fate worse than death.Â I cannot see the next hour, the next minute.Â Peace of mind, contentment, confidence – all replaced with terror, panic, and loss of self-awareness.
I have had animals put down thatÂ were in less pain.Â How can any higher power allow any of us to endure this?Â Shrinks spew words – psycho-babble.Â You are put under the threat that if you do harm to yourself, you will be taken away by the police – in handcuffs.Â This he actually said to me.
Where before there remained a glimmer of hope toÂ stop me, a cold wind blew out the last flame.Â In the time since, I have been slapped in the face once too many times.Â A sick cosmic joke, and one that I don’t get the punch line.
And yes, the blades are within reach.
I made up my mind today. I’m going to go through with it. Tomorrow my family will wake up to find me dead. There’s no hope left for me. Thank you to everyone that has tried to talk me out of this i appreciate your efforts but it wasn’t enough. I know I have to do this. I’m not afraid. I will try tonight and hopefully my plan works. If not, I’ll keep trying but if it does, I’ll see you on the other side.
I’ve never really understood things the way others seem to and I often feel out of place.Â It seems just when I start feeling good about life and feel like there is something I can really get behind and feel proud about supporting, I get shot down by obstacles and people (sometimes those few who are close to me).Â I’ve always had a view of the world tinted by dreamer’s eyes, and so realism isn’t exactly always my forte.Â I can get passionate about anything, but I can also get down and out about anything.Â At the drop of a hat I can turn from one extreme to another, and sometimes it feels like the ups are getting more manic and the lows are getting deeper.Â I have a big issue understanding people and circumstances, a lot of times I get confused and miscommunication seems to follow me everywhere.Â I have, at times, severe social anxiety which is teamed with schizophrenia, OCD, OCPD, ADHD, and sometimes various manias and phobias.Â I’ve been in and out of asylums and mental care facilities since 6th grade.
A lot of it started in 1st grade, because for half the school year my teacher abused me emotionally, verbally, physically and sexually.Â I was already afraid of the dark and claustrophobic and she would often lock me in the closet (on good days that’s all that would happen), sometimes through lunch.Â I was a trusting child and thankfully had very caring parents, but unfortunately I trusted them so much that I had that view of them that many children have of adults they trust which is the belief of them to be all powerful and all knowing, especially where comfort is concerned.Â So I assumed that the abuse I was receiving from my teacher was not abuse but aptly-given punishment, and chocked it up to “well, I must be a bad kid”.Â Of course, I have reconciled this, but having gone half the school year like that at an early age greatly shaped the way I think about things and how I approach social situations.
One thing that sticks out in my mind is that she had flash cards with words spelled out on them. It was my turn, and she showed me the word “saw” and instructed me to use it in a sentence.Â Apparently, she was looking for the past tense of “see”, but I assumed that she meant a cutting saw.Â So I used it in a sentence as such.Â She instantly snapped and towered over me and gave me probably the worst beating I have ever had while screaming at me, then locked me away for the rest of the day.Â That one stuck with me for awhile and has caused a lot of fear of miscommunication.Â That fear usually manifests itself in me overanalyzing situations and asking too many questions in conversations (or just sitting there awkwardly, paralyzed), and at times the fear of the miscommunication seems to actually bring about a miscommunication.
Aside from that, I have other issues, but I’m making progress I think.
Anyway, I was doing fine until my wife and mother of my two children left with them for another man last year.Â I was on the phone driving when she told me she was with someone else now and wanted to leave me, and my first instinct was to just drop the phone and curdle into the fetal position.Â My car plowed into a parked tractor trailer at 80 MPH and I almost died.Â I was so hurt and empty that even as it became harder to breathe and the emergency workers on the emergency hospital helicopter they flew me on became less and less hopeful.Â I would come to now and again and hear them chattering in low tones about my stats as if they were just waiting for me to die any second.Â I was still so shattered and sad that I felt relieved.
I recovered remarkably with but some head trauma to show for it, and got some medical and mental attention to help me get more stable.Â I was able to set up a makeshift support system for myself through a few very caring and selfless friends and family members, which I am most fortunate for.Â Still, it seemed like every day was an unbearable journey.Â I felt guilty about having tried to kill myself mainly because of my children, and even guiltier because I still had suicidal thoughts.
Months later I tried again, this time by taking 60 nerve pills.Â My mother found me and noticed that I needed medical attention and rushed me to the hospital after finding my empty bottle and they got me treated, but I was out of it for a few days.Â Even then as I regained consciousness and had to stay in a mental institution, I felt like I was floating in a dream and didn’t feel remorse.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my children very much and I feel guilty as far as wanting to die sometimes, but I felt trapped and hopeless and like everything had been taken away from me.Â The thing that had been getting me through the years and helping me progress as I had was that I knew I had a family at home that I could provide for that loved me and it was suddenly ripped away.
This past year has been incredibly rough on me and those that have tried to support me.Â I know a lot of people here aren’t fortunate enough to have as many people helping them right now as have helped me, but in retrospect I can see that every little bit does help.Â If the area you live in doesn’t yield any help, try looking in other parts of your area.Â Try visiting CouchSurfing.com for people nearby that you can stay with for a few days.Â Look into hotlines and Safe Places.Â There are shelters and support groups.Â The main thing that I experienced is it always helped when I knew that someone was listening.Â Even if they couldn’t relate to my experience, they could relate to my depression.Â If there isn’t any of those things that help, keep talking online to people.
Create art, express your feelings on paper and in paint or in whatever art medium you enjoy most.Â Don’t hold back and just throw all that negativity out into art.Â Plant a flower and watch it grow, help it grow.Â There are all kinds of things to do that actually do help, and if you can find enough of those little things, it ends up being enough to get you through.
I know when you are feeling down and hopeless and lost and trapped and angry and all of the above that when people try to cheer you the natural reaction is “pfffbt, easier said than done, wtf do you know, you can’t just switch on happiness or at least i cant and thats the problem”.
But I also know that it helps to know that other people have the same feelings and issues, and a lot of us eventually get through things to lead happy lives.
I believe everyone deserves happiness and can attain it, and my friends have helped me realize this.Â I have resolved the conflict with my ex-wife and her boyfriend and now all 3 of us work together peacefully as a parenting team to make sure we are all on the same page as far as the children getting what they need.Â I’m a new person since recently, and I don’t even feel sadness over her anymore.Â I’m happy for them and he’s good to the kids, and it isn’t like he’s replacing me.Â It’s more like they got an extra trustworthy adult in their lives that cares about them.Â I know this all seems like a stretch especially after merely a year, but it just works for me.Â The events this past year have opened up my heart and in retrospect I got through things because of friends, family and random acts of kindness as well as the intrinsic beauty of nature.
Those things that make you smile, even if but for a second.. be it the wind, or a silly dance you see someone do, or the purring of a kitten.. whatever brings you those small moments of happiness, cherish them and savor them!
Let them happen when they try. Don’t fight someone trying to warm your heart and make you smile, let yourself dance with them.Â Silly words to say, I know, but it works.Â Even if just for a second.
I made a website because of all of this where people post things to cheer other people up and I’m trying to go about spreading smiles on the streets and everywhere I go.
This might all be too much to try to take in, I know 6 months ago I might have scoffed at this post.
I just want you to know that it does get better.Â There are people out here who care about you even when they do not know you.Â There is always something around to smile about if you look for it.Â You are not alone.Â We do not care who you are or what you have done or will do or what you look like, we love you and we accept you.Â Take a moment to consider that this might be part of a cycle and you may feel better soon.Â Remember that people aren’t psychic and they do not know when you are down.Â If you need help or someone to talk to, let someone know what’s going on.Â Don’t assume that you appear to be depressed to others and that they aren’t helping you because they don’t care.Â They might not be able to tell just by looking at you.Â There’s been times when I’ve been nothing but sad yet I’ve been told at those times that people thought I looked like I was angry, in deep thought, stoic, sleepy, bored, even just plain “there”.Â No one knew I was severely depressed until I told them about it.Â Some of you are having trouble finding people to talk to, but there are people here online at this site that cares at the very least.Â Those anonymous suicide hotlines can really help, too.Â Those people work at those places as volunteers a lot of times because they want to talk to you and help you get through this.
Just know that you will get through this and find happiness in this life and there are many people out here way out in this wild world that truly love you and want to help you.
I believe in you and I hope you feel better soon.
So is it so bad to be a gay male.. Yes it is, from how I’m treated.Â You’d think I was a fucking childmolesting murderer for how the people at school treat me.Â But no, just gay.Â It’s my senior year of high school tooÂ and you think it’d be the best but itÂ has undeniably beenÂ the worst.Â I never knew that coming out would have such negative consequences. WTF wasÂ I thinking!Â I liveÂ in Montana in a small town FULL of homophobes.Â Â And everyone knows that I am gayÂ so that past five months since I did come out have been hell. Everyday I go through the same ritual of people yelling nastyÂ discriminatory comments at me, and those hit hard.Â really hard.. I used to be happy four years ago, it was nice.. That was when I lived in wonderful Seattle too and it was great, no worries there.Â But here I am spared nothing.Â Everyday I have toÂ watch my back because Im afraid ofÂ getting the shit beat out of me which has happenÂ twice before.Â Haha so fucked up.. theÂ last time I did my nose got broken, basically shattered,Â and my depth perception is off from getting hit in the face so much.Â My car gets vandalized regularly,Â Do I deserve this? No i dont think so but I cant take the constant anxiety of when someones gonna humiliate me or beat the hell out of me again.Â I have a hard time even leavin my house because of this.Â Im a wreck, a total trainwreck at the moment.Â So the last five months have been hard, but finally I feel a bit of inner peace because I’ve decided my fate.Â I cant wait to be out of pain, Im so emotionally drained.Â I didn’t think it was gonna be so bad around here with everyone knowing but I was DEAD wrong.Â Life is hard enough without the extra shit from everyone.Â Â I thought I could always rely on myself to get through the tough times but not these ones.Â I thought I was a strong person and I was but I don’t know whats become of me.Â Being ridiculed for your sexual orientation is excruciating for me.Â Alls that I can do after a day of school is come home and cut and cry it out.Â I didn’t even mean to come out but I did when i became manic and decided it would be a good idea.Â I always get into ALOTA trouble when I go manic, and now here I am depressed.. morose and dead on the inside, sooon to be outside and when Im like this i just want to lay in bed for days on end and be dead to the world.Â But instead I drag myself to school already feeling the heavy toll of my depression and then all the extra shit I get from the people is just enough to send me over the edge.Â Oddly I’m feeling rather good and relieved right now,Â Im ready.
I don’t know how to live the “right” type of life. To me, living hurts. Dying is simple. To die, all you have to do is stop. To live, you have to do everything. Somebody told me that every breath you take is a choice. If that’s the case, I’m going to stop breathing. That’s my choice. To be or not to be? I choose to not. I’m tired of living. I have chosen how I want to go; I just need a place and a time. I’m waiting but we’ll see. I know that nobody should want to die, but I do. That’s what I want. I’m sorry to those who can’t relate to these feelings but somebody has to relate…right?
As far as death goes, I’m not scared. I’m not afraid to wake up in Hell. I will just simply take too many of my anti-depressants and slip into a deep sleep. I will pray that no one will find me until I’m already gone. But we’ll see. I hope my plan becomes final one day. I also hope that the people in my life that I care about will learn to accept it. People die everyday. Everyday someone commits suicide. I know that if I do it, I’ll be just another statistic but, if being another statistic finally gets people to realize how I have felt then so be it.
The cuts on my ankle I have made are starting to burn but we’ll see where that goes. As far as that, the cutting I mean, I don’t cut to kill myself. I cut to soothe the pain. Everyone I know commonly mistakes my cutting for an attempted suicide. I don’t see it that way. When I cut, something happens. It’s almost like I’m happy. For that one moment in time I can be myself. The self that cuts. The self that can’t express who she really is in person. The self that is me. It’s horrible, I know but the more people ask me about it, the more I’m going to do it (cutting that is). We’ll see where this all goes. We’ll see.