i’m not sure why, but i have this weird feeling that i won’t grow to be old. i mean, i can’t imagine myself living until i’m, what, ninety?
Quit Worrying About How You Look, it’s About Whats On The Inside!
i don’t care who you are. your beautiful and amazing in your own unique and special way, please don’t let what he/she says make you stop believing that. the people who hurt you most are the ones who usually are the closest to you…but don’t beat yourself up, and depress yourself with it, because they may have called you ugly. stupid. fat. etc..but only you can believe them..only you can take it to heart. only you can take it as far as it gets. You, are Your Biggest Enemy. free yourself from mental slavery, because only you can free your minds and make yourself happy.â™¥ so smile wonderful.(: because your amazing.
Hi, I just wanted to share my story about suicide, which I did not commit, and since then have realized the importance of that decision. Everything does get better, I hope anyone who reads that are having thoughts about suicide will reconsider their decision.
The scars runs way down to when I was very young. My dad was a cardiologist and he came home every three days. Always being away from my dad made me frightened of him, although he was a great dad. I was a timid child and was scared of everything, I was told by grandparents that I cried at least twice a day. That is to my family of course, but to teachers and other students, I was considerably cold and detached, though inside, being talked to scared me out of my wits. I guess this is mainly because I rarely see my parents. My mom was in a similar field as my father, and although I see her everyday, she is always dog tired from her work and slept as soon as she got home. I guess you could say I was lucky, I had a nice family that could prove me of all my needs. Grandparents that spoiled me and gave me everything I wanted, though I rarely wanted anything at all. However, the person that mattered to me most at the time was my aunt, she was my life you could say. I felt alive when I was with her, being able to express myself shamelessly, telling her everything I wanted, and not shy away from her. She’s my mom’s sister and although they looked alike, their personalities were rather different. My mom was a beautiful and calm young woman, she was fun and everyone who met her will eventually like her. As for my aunt, she was more beautiful, and usually had many men around her, pursuing her, but because of her beauty, she had no interest in a relationship, and to others she was often hot tempered. To me though, she was every bit as patient as my mom, if not more. Well, my parents, for me decided to leave to a new place for me. Since my body was weak and the gas and air of a flourishing city did not suit me. We moved to a beautiful place, it is a city known to many, and maybe you will be able to guess. Anyways, I cried and cried, in tears day and night, I was young, about seven. I didn’t want to be away from anyone, and I didn’t like that I could no longer see my aunt in person. I felt stone cold, though for once, I had my parents. Maybe that was the only reason I was able to hold out and remain assertive at school, I felt like breaking, but knowing that it will be my mom waiting for me after school instead of a nanny made me happy beyond anything, though I still love my aunt more than anything. My time with my parents finally, for once made me feel like their children. Don’t get me wrong, my parents never neglected me, they were with me whenever they can, often taking breaks from work to stay with me. They know they have to stay with their child often, and that is probably one of the reasons they were willing to give up their jobs and family to move to this distant land. Eventually, that couldn’t last, despite of all the money they earned, it was enough buy a nice house and a nice car, and to live for a period of time, but they had to return to work. That part of my childhood was great, and I loved every minute of it. That is until my grandfather’s heart disease returned. My dad rushed back in haste, but my grandfather refused surgery at all cost, although the cost was no problem at all, the real reason is because my grandfather wanted to stop all the suffering, the fact of always knowing that whenever, wherever, he could die, anytime. The pain he is causing his children and wife probably stopped him from getting his surgery, especially his own pain. I loved him, but he passed on, he left us, and when he left, he took my grandmother’s soul with him. This meant my dad would not be able to return for a long time, he left his job to comfort his sister and grandma, while my mother was left to support me. He returned about a year later back to us, but by that time, I have already felt frightened and unstable enough to a point where I would just leave the house in the middle of the night when my mother fell asleep and just scream and cry at the trees. I started to show mild depression. My father went back to work and so did my mom. My conditions were becoming considerably better. By the end of elementary school, I have made many new friends. At the start of secondary school, I have already made up my mind on what I wanted to be, a surgeon. I knew that a becoming a surgeon meant hard work. So I locked myself inside my room all day to study, going to the library four times a day during lunch time to study. I lost contact of my friends mainly outside of school. Isolating myself from my parents, and my friends. Once in a while, my parents would force me to go to a friend’s birthday party, they were worried, and they knew I didn’t need to study that hard. Sometimes, when I didn’t want to study and learn things that I really didn’t need to know yet about the human body, I would just lie on my carpet and stare at the ceiling, thoughts racing through my head. Lying there for hours, if my parents weren’t home, maybe for a day. That was when my depression came back, and I knew it, I knew that I had depression, I knew that was the reason why I wanted to be by myself, that was the reason why I was thinking about horrible things about myself, and the reason that I made up stories inside my head to distract myself from those thoughts. Sometimes, I would think that people can hear my thoughts, and clear my mind completely, when walking by myself, I would think that people are following me. I wondered, was I becoming psychotic? I daren’t to find out, but merely continued my journey to self destruction. There were times when I lost the meaning of life, not even being able to cry anymore. Sneaking out late down to the trees behind my school to scream and cry no longer worked. Tears no longer staining my face. In fact, I felt completely detached from my body. Like my body was a lonely walking shell. That’s when I started the thoughts of suicide. First starting out when I was reading about it on the internet. I didn’t want to kill myself, I knew that my aunt would not approve of it, and I wanted to see her before I leave, I want to hug her one more time and tell her how much I missed her before joining my grandfather. I didn’t want to leave my caring parents, but I couldn’t carry on anymore. Every minute on this world felt like torture to me, cutting into my bones and strangling me, so that it became hard to breathe, hard to understand why I’m still alive. Hard to think anymore. I guess I was an excellent actress, Doing this since a young age, I appeared perfectly happy to my friends and family, and they suspected nothing. Once, I was hungry, so I came down stares to make myself some lasagna, since I liked lasagna and because I made it often for myself (my parents didn’t like it nearly as much as I did), I was quick. I was cutting up some things to put in my lasagna when I accidentally cut myself, it hurt. It was a deep cut, and at the time I wanted to bleed to death, maybe just die this way, and I was almost happy. But at the same time, I knew I couldn’t die from this cut. Nevertheless, this planted a seed in me. A seed to my downward spiral. I hid the knife in my bed, under the mattress, I never cut myself to convey my emptiness, but I hid the knife. I wondered when I would do it, and sometimes the thoughts would race through my head, but I wanted to see my aunt first, so I refrained. But I really wanted to just plunge the knife into myself, feeling the sweet pain draining life away from myself. It was a thought that made me happy. I convinced myself that my brother who was ten years younger could take care of my parents. So that it no longer mattered. Eventually, I realized it will be a year before I can see my aunt again. That thought, of waiting, for a year finally made me lose it. Once again, convincing myself that my aunt will find a husband, and she will have a own child that she will love. I decided that maybe I should leave, but I wanted my parents to know that I’m leaving. That one day, before going to sleep, I hugged both my parents, though it no longer really mattered to me, and I didn’t know at the time if they loved me or not, but it was just a ritual, something I felt like I should do. I didn’t like giving hugs, so I suppose they were both surprised. I looked at my brother sleep, he’s young, he’ll grow up, and he’ll forge me, that’s what I thought at the moment, ‘he doesn’t care anyways’. Dragging my feet to my bedroom, I knew what I was going to do in a few minutes time, and I felt something that was almost joy from my heart. Something that I haven’t experience for so long that I craved for that feeling. Perhaps it was by some miracle but my came into the room just as I was holding the knife and examining it, my face in her words ‘twisted in wrong ecstasy’. She saw me, and she froze, staring at the knife and to me, tears trailed from her eyes, and she sunk to the floor crying. My mother’s crying brought my father also into my room, my father, working in the hospital, knew what to do. Though perhaps it was the fact that I was his daughter that made him lose his calmness. He cautiously sat beside me and started talking to me. Neither touching nor looking at the knife in my hand. I will spare you of the gory details of that, but eventually I put my knife down, they asked me to sleep in my little brother’s room and asked if I needed my their company. Of course, I replied no, I knew that they were searching my room for my weapons. Which consisted of a knife in my drawer, a dagger, and a larger knife that I hid in my drawer. It was usually used to cut meat so that it was able to slice the bone in half. After that night, my parents took turns to stay with me, each staying home for a week, going to work for a week. Being discovered by them was the best thing that ever happened to me. Their support for me, their calm words and care settled me down. However, their ultimate gift to me was a vacation trip. In which I took unlimited time off of school to visit my family back home. So that I was able to see my aunt, my grandparents, and what remains of my grandmother. My grandmother was also suffering from depression, ever since my grandfather left, she was constantly trying to kill herself, usually by the form of wondering from the sidewalk on to the streets to make it look like an accident. She did that twice, with no success. After seeing my aunt, I finally realized something, she loves me. The way she held my face with her hands and smiling with tears in her eyes, the tears glided down her face and dropping at her pointed chin, even in tears, she was beautiful. I missed her, that moment I realized how much I missed her, and the detachment, the assertiveness, all the acting that have already pooled up in my container, the container that I tried to crash open that night, but thankfully failed, exploded. And I felt the excitement, the tension lifting off of my shoulders. And I suddenly noticed how clammy and cold my hands felt, how still my joints were, and how much I am capable of emotion. I went to see a psychiatric and my depression was confirmed, the recurrence rates are high, but I wanted to stay this way, to feel happy. As my days ran past, the happiness retained, but fear was always creeping behind me, the fear of returning to depression, something that I have felt, that have left, and that have returned with a vengeance. I wanted to remain sane, even it it was for a slight period of time. My psychiatrist said that it was miracle that I was able to recover so fast, but what goes up fast, will only drop back down faster. My parents never said anything during this time, they had to return after two weeks for work, they have said that I could return to them wherever I liked, or that I could stay with my aunt. That offer was tempting, but I knew where my future lay, and it was back at school, it was in the hospital, helping others, though I could barely save myself. I have, of course been keeping up with school work, sending my homework in an orderly fashion to my teachers, though the amount of tests that I have to take when I get back is depressing. I went back, crying on the plane for ten hours straight, thinking about when I might see her again, the woman that I love so. After returning to school, my parents kept a close eye on me, often forcing me to go out with my friends, telling me that I can go see my aunt wherever I liked. But, at the time, I was as close to as sane as I am now as possible and I rejected their offers, going to school, staying with friends, travelling with the school band, and opening to new opportunities. I realized the love of my friends, the bonds with them are important to me, how they care about me was incredible, something that I did not realize when I was in my stage of depression. Something that I would have thought impossible if you told me a year before that time. I realized, love, all sorts of love, not only between lovers, but between family, from friends, from teachers, and those that care. It is them that helped me back on my road when I was falling into my own destruction, their smiles and caring that led me to my life today. If I was not discovered that day, I would not be here to tell the tale. For my feelings at that very time was very complicated, my mind set. I know that perhaps if you do have suicidal thoughts this may seem impossible to you, but I wish you could believe, that love is the cure. I never took any pills for depression, my parents, who both were in the medical field understood the side effects of those pills, so I came out of it on full support. It was like being reborn back into this world, learning how to talk again, how to think, how to walk. I felt like a baby, to a toddler, and now to myself. Now I cherish life, I feel thankful for those around me, and my luck that kept me here. My grandmother, whom I have mentioned earlier, is still under the supervision of the family and her old friends, though suicidal thoughts are also gone from her, the fact that the person whom she loved most in her life is gone cannot be denied. That stage took me four years to step out of. Now, I feel lucky to be at where I am now. This story, clear of many details that I am sure you do not want to hear, is my story of depression. I just wanted to tell anyone, that feel like they are going to commit suicide. Of course, I was very lucky to have such a wonderful family that supported me every step of the way, and friends that gave me joy when I realized I could not. My parents that gave me life and saved me again from myself. My aunt, that gave new birth to me, so that I feel love for the real time since years. There are many aspects of my story that I do not wish to reveal, for although I have put those feelings and thoughts behind, I still feel disgusted that I have ever had any thoughts of them. Even if you do not have a wonderful family to support you as I had, I hope that you seek help, it is the people around us that are giving us this beautiful world, that are creating our love for them. Cherish them, for they will be the people that you hold above your own life.
for as long as i can remember, i’ve always been different from everyone else.
eventually i came to accept it; i basked in loneliness, despite the fact that it was “wrong” in the eyes of others. it was wrong to sit in my room alone. it was wrong to ignore others. it was wrong to not be like everyone else.
so i put up walls and i lived behind a mask for years. it was nearly perfect, as everyone bought into my lies. they believed that i was the person who i pretended to be.
yet one person knew.. he was the person closest to myself. he was my brother. he took pride in raping my mind.. changing my outlook on life.. everything. he destroyed me.
i was twelve when i first fought back against him. so, he beat me. from then on, i knew there was no god. i hated church. i hated life.
so, i tried to die. i took just a handful.. but after a minute, it all came back out. and i thought it was a sign, telling me to live on.
i grew to trust no one.. i lived through ages 13, 14, 15, 16 behind my fake identity.. i hated everyone.. i only played into their simple lives to amuse myself. but one day, i met the person who would change my life forever.
i was smitten, at the time.. two days later.. we were together.. and i knew nothing about her. she only spouted lies. her name, her age, her interests.. all lies. to think that the one person i ever opened up to was worse than everyone else was heart-wrenching. and then i refused to believe it.. i believed her.. i believed everything she had said, despite knowing that they were all lies.
they said.. “break up with her.” “get out before it’s too late..” but i resented them. little did i know.. that would be the most important piece of advice that i would ever receive in my entire life. slowly but surely, we got “closer.” and i was aware of everything. she was seeing other guys, she never told me her real name, she couldn’t be trusted, she was scum..
i disappeared for twenty-two days. i left home.. everything. it took a while, but i was finally able to put my mask back on after that period of isolation.. i was written off with “chronic stress,” and i was instructed to visit a shrink three times a week.
three became four.. until it became seven. i loved my shrink.. we wrote down our stories and exchanged them, hour after hour, day after day. she was the only hand that plunged into my world, and i held onto it for dear life.
i eventually met with my girlfriend again. i knew she was seeing other guys, and that she was talking behind my back, but i didn’t say a thing. i never called her out on her lies or her infidelity.. or anything. till the very end, i played the role of the naive protagonist. “your name really isn’t alice is it?” was my closure. or so i thought.
i was fine for the first two weeks. and then i began seeing things that reminded me of her. whether it be something small like her name in a textbook, or something big, like a place we used to go to together. my closure was not complete, and she haunted me. i grew restless.. unable to think.. maybe even insane. then i found a way out.
through weed and alcohol, i was able to escape everything that bothered me. i depended on the two until it became a necessity. i realized that i didn’t need my shrink anymore, i just needed more to drink, so i stopped all contact with my her. i stopped going to class. and i spent more and more time getting drunk and high.
it always seemed like everything was alright when i wasn’t sober. unfortunately, my tolerance increased, so i moved on to harder drugs.
i was spending day after day getting fucked up so that i wouldn’t think about my ex, my paranoia, my stress, my addiction, my depression, and anything that was going wrong. my spending had reached upwards $1000 a day, until my parents pulled the plug on it. they didn’t bother asking why i had spent so much money. they were just angry that i had spent so much. they don’t even care anyway.. since i was born, every fucking christmas.. birthday.. new year.. all i got was money. they hated spending time with me.. so as soon as i was a teenager, they split. they were never home in the first place.. as if it’d make a difference now.
addiction kicked in soon after. i was laid up at home by myself and i didn’t know what to do. i was so lost.. and i just wanted to visit the one person who ever listened to me. i got to her office and i asked for an appointment. she refused me. but i begged and begged until she finally let me in. i tried to tell her everything, but once i told her about my addiction she told me to leave.
“i don’t help criminals.”
i didn’t kill anyone. i didn’t rob anyone. i didn’t steal..
it’s been five days. everyone i’ve asked for help has turned their backs on me. humans are so selfish. everything they do is for self-gain. they don’t help others because they just want to save time. or they want to help others just because it makes them feel good about themselves.
last night, i finally realized what it was like to be pushed beyond the edge. the hopelessness, the loneliness, the disregard for health and life itself, the apathy for anything and everything.
i realized that i don’t need to cry for help anymore since no one is going to come. i’ve lived my life incorrectly, but i’m no longer going to sit around and cry about it. this life will not have been for naught.
instead, i’m going to use what i’ve learned in my next life by becoming just like everyone else: selfish, untrustworthy, and evil. the idea is unlikely.. but at this point, anything is better than living in this life.
if i am not reborn, it will be even better. i’ll never have to see anyone ever again.
Take a look around
This is our reality
This is the way we all are bound
It’s the concept of conformity
Not allowed to be who we are
The worst of our beliefs by far
Taking away our individuality
Who are you to change her
Change what the world will see
Who areÂ you to tell her
Who she’s supposed to be
Who areÂ you toÂ hold her
And never set her free
She’s notÂ like everyone
She doesn’t do the same things they do
She doesn’t want to be like you
She is a different person
The sun sinks behind the horizon
Another day pretending to be you
Why’d you change her?
Why didn’t you tell her?
You don’t know who she’s supposed to be?
Why won’t you just let her be
Still she won’t do as they say
She won’t stop trying to get away
She’s praying to find a way
There’s got to be another way
Why’dÂ you change her
Why’d youÂ tell her who to be
Why areÂ youÂ still holdingÂ her
She was born to be free
So just let her be