I know that isn’t really a word. My daughter struggles with depression, scratching (not really deep cuts) and suicidal thoughts. I do, too. I have told her that before that I know where she is coming from. I even told her that I had thoughts of wanting to die. In typical 13 year old fashion, she must have never really heard me. We don’t like her psychiatrist, so yesterday I told her that I was going to start therapy and seeing a psychiatrist again because my thoughts of wanting to die were increasing. She started crying and was depressed the whole day stating she never knew I felt like that. I said I had told her before and that I would never leave her. I just have thoughts like she says she does. I asked her if she thought I wasn’t upset when she told me how she felt. If she thought she can just go around telling people that and they just are like “ok” and go on as before. i think she never really thought about it. But anyways, I called and am getting an appointment with a new psych and therapist. Also, I am going for some more testing for my health issues next week. My rheumatologist’s staff is not the best, but I live in a small city and don’t have many options. I have been waiting for a referral for almost 2 months. Finally the doc office that is supposed to be getting the referral called themselves and got it. So, happy. Maybe thinks will be looking up soon.
Second post. Spent all day yesterday planning my death if my trip abroad didn’t work out. Realised it was really bad.
Realised I have to go on proper meds or I will do it. Am not afraid of death but don’t want to fail at it and think the process would be uncomfortable.
Cried and cried and realised only answer was to get proper help. Went in first thing to docs to book an appointment and said it was urgent. The receptionist asked me how long I’d had symptoms and I said depression a long time suicidal a few months now. I thought she would realise this was urgent cos its been a while… Instead she said “so why is it urgent today?” And raised her eyebrows.
And there you go; why I want to quit the world in a personification. What disgusting behaviour. I walked out and balled my eyes out, having booked my appointment for 2 hours time.
I was sitting on the floor crying and a girl stopped and asked if I was OK. I said yes as you do. The personification of the opposite. The nice ones and the horrible ones.
I just hope to have a good nights sleep soon. Its been over 2 months I’ve not slept properly for anxiety and depression. I’ve been so anti medication but I know there is no other answer right now.
Just hoping things can get better.
Also realise I may have to be on and off meds for rest of my life if I want to live. Its really that simple; do I want to live or not. Not sure is the answer but clearly something inside me does otherwise I wouldn’t be going to the doctors.
Not going abroad. Going to get a simple stable life until I’ve got my mental state to a good place for a long time. Its going to be very tough I can feel it.
Thank you for reading
And by pain, I mean physical pain.Â I am sick of hurting all the time.Â I am sick of not sleeping at night because I get these long, miserable headaches, and the treatment(s) are typically stimulants.Â I feel nauseous and depressed and I just want to die.
I have PTSD from being ill.Â I get flashbacks of when I was sickest.Â I was lying spread-eagled on the floor, unable to move.Â I could barely breathe.Â I just lay there and stared at the ceiling, I don’t know for how long.Â I remember crawling from my mattress to the kitchen to open a can of beans.Â It took all my strength just to sit on the floor and move the spoon from the can to my mouth.Â And then I crawled back into bed, maybe swallowed some robitussin to take the edge off the pain.
I was being poisoned, and no one believed me.Â My house was making me worse.Â I was at death’s door, and my doctors prescribed Prozac.
Whenever I get a headache, I remember that year.Â It’s not the pain which is so bad, it’s what comes with it.Â And it comes strong and fast and I can’t escape.
Hey. I’m a 14 year old girl. I was suicidal last year, I was referred to CAMHS (Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services)
I didn’t go. When I was young, my mum used to hit me when I made her angry. I told my school and she got a warning.
My eldest sisters told them I was lying. COINCIDENTALLY the same social worker got involved last year about my “suicide note”.
No. I said, “Won’t death be the perfect escape” among other things. It was private. like a diary.Â SO MY FRIEND DECIDED TO RAID MY ROOM WHILST I WAS AT SCHOOL AND SHE FOUND IT. Anyway. no more social worker business its ended but its still a part of me. I hate her. she ruined my life. She bullied me.
i feel sad. all the time. i used to cut, last year i started and finished within 5 months. i don’t know why i stopped. it felt so good.
i started again a few weeks back. i cut my thigh deep but not that deep. my carpet was stained. so i haven’t done it since in case i get caught.
i want to die. i tied a scarf around my neck at night to stop me from breathing in my sleep but i chickened out and ripped it off.
i overdosed on paracetamol (i know , i don’t have any other medicine) and i was taken to hospital for “food poisoning”. hm.
i missed 2 weeks of school. consequently, i got low level/grades which meant my mum and sister could blaze me and take the mick
this girl has been on my case in schoolÂ i hate her 🙁 she “rearranged” a print screen of a conversation with me and my other friend to make me look bad. so I guess im a “cyber bully” . But im not i promise
i miss my dad. my old dad. he’s still the same though except he’s ill
pulmonary lung fibrosis and the arteries to his heart or something are closing. he’s going to die. doctors gave him 5 years to live, in 2009.
but I love him. he’s the nicest person ever.
im still angry about how my sister said, “you never get it do you? not everything is about you” (she’s 21 by the way)
My dad came in, and i was so mean to him i told him to get lost i am crying now because i made him sad 🙁 🙁
i only have 2 true friends but i only say true to keep myself happy. i’ve been bullied by them in the past but whats done is done right??
i literally don’t have anything.
no memories no prized possession.
except for my dad
all the time i was thinking of dying i thought about my dad how sad he’d be after his princess is dead
i want to wait until he dies i know its selfish but i literally cannot carry on anymore
time after time i make mistakes and people bully me
everyone says “fuck them” but no i can’t i just can’t
i always let it get to me and thats why i suck im a failure why am i even alive i don’t deserve this
im muslim. we , not including me, believe that if you commit suicide, you go to hell
but God, why are you letting me sufferI’m going to hell anyway. for questioning you, for *probably* committing, for doubting you.
i hate myself even more now
what if God hates me and takes my dad
what if He takes my only friends
Here is my life story and why i want to kill myself.
when i was born i was dropped on my head by my crackhead mother and then because of it couldnt talk right but could still think the same according to the doctors. In my middle school years people started to make fun of me because of that and felt as if there is nothing else to do.
so luckily somebody introduced me to a little plant called weed and i could never get off of it and after a while of smoking that i got bored and started on the acid and coke. And from there i went suicidal and wanted to kill myself everysecond that i wasnt on coke. and by the time i was 18 i ran out of money so i stole from my grandmother which i feel really bad about but i felt as if i didnt i would have died. so i kept stealing until i was finally cut off of money from my grandmother. So i robbed gas stations and shoplifted from there and bought my new drug meth. Yep crank because it was so cheap and it lasted so long was my last resort. Later on in my life i killed my mother for putting me in this poisition. At the time i didnt know how old i was or where i was all i remebered was that when i killed her i ran. I JUST RAN forever it felt like. I stole her coke and smoked that all and then when i woke up from my little nap i woke up in a prison in austin texas and i live in houston. (Not saying i ran that far just saying) And realized what i had done and actually wanted to be in jail. only because i would be cut off from life and drugs. I went to court and was sentenced to a lifetime sentences without parol. And from there i thought about how my life went. and i thought about everything. Everything that has happened in life and what a waste in God’s creation i was.
Then i started to look at the bight side of things before i killed my self at maximum security prison. i thought well i set some great examples to people who know me and showed them that drugs is not the way obviously… And now i think about that i dont wanna kill myself its a wierd felling inside about how my life was a waste but the one good thing in life made my happy. and it wasnt a person or anything like that it was the fact that i taught people a bad example and will probably be told to the next generation of kids about my story… So if you think you got it hard then think again and think about the one good thing in life and run away as far as you need to. for me it was prison for life… that pretty far. So hope this helped you wannadiers, if it did please comment below cause i would like to know your story.
I have LPR.
It’s a horrid disease and incurable to say the least. Those with LPR have the pleasure of experiencing various, horrible, painful symptoms in their heads and throats. There is no cure. Doctors refuse to acknowledge its existence. The only one who does – a specialist – says having LPR is like having the ‘VIP pass’ to throat cancer.Guaranteed. The stomach enzyme pepsin is to blame for both LPR and fatal throat cancer. Proven.
And I have LPR. Proven. Therefore I am almost guaranteed to experience cancer, which will kill me. Painfully…
And even if I don’t, I will have to suffer for my whole life, desperately trying to fight a disease that has already won. Even alkaline water makes my throat burn like a hellfire; starving myself is the only way I can prevent symptoms. The stress myth is nonsense; If simple stress could cause a disease like this then why are my symptoms never broigught on from simply being afraid of them? Foolish, naive nonsense from people who don’t appreciate how much I suffer.
My family hate me for it. Even though my own mother has survived breast cancer, she can’t see fit to believe in me. To top it off I’m a socially awkward gay with no job, friends or respect – no wonder nobody would miss me. Maybe I should starve myself? That would be a fitting end, and maybe people would finally believe me when LPR has its way and takes my life once and for all. I wanted to go on – I used to have a goal in life and the love yo follow it tjrough – but LPR has taken it all from me. I have nothing left except for a single cure.
It’s called death, also known as “putting an end to my suffering forever.”
My next surgery is coming in a week.Â It is exploratory since doctors are still trying to figure out my body.Â I am done.Â I do not ever want to see another doctor, have another surgery, I am done.Â I am unable to even try committing suicide right now because I am busy with commitments to the odd-jobs I do in the neighborhood.Â I need these jobs as I am poor and can’t be turning down offers of work.Â But I don’t allow myself to attempt suicide during these job commitments because if I failed and was placed in a psych ward I fear people would see me as unstable and not hire me for these jobs.Â I am thinking of at least trying suicide again the night before surgery as that’s really the only opportunity I have.Â I need so badly for this to end.Â I feel like god only created me to be a medical experiment.Â And I hate being subjected to doctors.Â They are, more often than not, so cruel.Â I don’t have much good to say about doctors.Â Â I often have dreams where I am confined in a hospital hallway or room and there is a doctor there wanting to perform surgery and I beg, I say “I am not having surgery” “I do not want surgery” and I beg and try to escape but I cannot, and the doctors begin torturing me.Â Â God why are you so cruel to subject living beings human and animal to doctors and research scientists who care nothing about us at all?Â My life would be better if there were no doctors and no scientists so I could be left alone to die in peace, hopefully to escape to a place where there is no one to force me to do anything ever again.
It’s been a long time… I’m just so ready for it to just…end.
I’ve reached a new low. A low, where the first time in my life, the cutting isn’t enough. The distractions, the stories… even my art has become dull and lifeless. Leaving the house is painful. Seeing so much happiness. It hurts, so much. And the stares, the rumors. I pretend they don’t bother me, but when I’m alone, their words are sharper than any of my knives. I found this movie, stumbled on it, really… And it seems so stupid. Â So fake- but I love it. The idea of finding a world….a place where people understand you. Where they won’t attack you and ridicule you. Â A world where everyone supports each other.
I don’t know why I hurt so much, or why everything Â feels empty. I don’t eat, don’t sleep, really. And I know I need to ask someone for help. But who? Â I can’t ask my parents…they think I’m being melodramatic. They don’t see hoe bad I’ve gotten. And I don’t trust doctors. I wouldn’t let them near me. Â Really… the only person I could trust enough to ask for help is the one who offers suicide as an out, if I’m so miserable. But I don’t *want* do die. I just want to make this pain end, and nothing I’ve tried has been working, no matter how hard I try… and it really makes me wonder…
Is Suicide the only way?
I dont know why, but i want to kill all the people around me.
Even my family, i love them but, i really want to kill them.
I dont know whats happening whit me, am i crazy?
I feel empty. More death that alive.
I cant feel anything. I not even smile or cry. I feel cold. Empty.
I have try anything. Doctors, medicine, therapy… nothing helps.
I just feel all this fucking needs of blood and death.
Can somebody help me? Please!?
I never keep promises unless I reeeeeeeally have to
The only reason I keep any promises is when either the law or the medical establishment forces me to keep them…
I’m a survivor and haven’t yet killed myself, nor have I gone with counting down five years from now to die at my own hands, because I was made to swear that I wouldn’t attempt suicide again, nor ask to be helped to die again, by who? The fucking doctors. I love them, yet they give me a hard burden to bear. I love one friend in this world, a few family members only.
I never believed in the Hypocratic Oath, not ever. Never trusted doctors. Not ever. Till a couple of weeks ago when I was getting ready for a prosthesis, and when I felt reeeeeally yuck because of some procedures I didn’t like, I decided it was time to go. I asked the doctor to shoot me. At first it seemed to be a joke. Then the next time I said: “I want you to lie me on my back and shoot me!” The doctor then said no in a very discouraging tone, then gently told me I have a bit of life left in me. In order to leave, he had to know that I was feeling a bit better, and he had to see I could think straight, and that I wouldn’t be feigning feeling ok just so I could commit suicide later on. The family member who heard my confession to this doctor, supported him, yet understood my concerns for my suffering. Luckily for me, the few family members who love me, helped me get over that shit. Now I’m all right today, yet I have this burden to bear, that I must keep promises I so hate! I only keep promises that suit my agenda.
I’ve never been a good promise-keeper. I literallly need others to make me keep promises, otherwise I do not follow my word unless it’s what I want. I’m a bit thankful for people doing that, but at other times I find this so intrusive and annoying! Yet in a way I’m able to survive when it takes a doctor to make me keep promises, even in front of some of the family. At least I know that because of this, these same people really love me. Maybe I need more people to force me to keep promises, only I have to be certain that whoever makes me promise things that will help me out, is genuinely caring. So far, the people who couldn’t give a fuck about me, don’t make me promise to look after myself. As for the other percentage of non-caring people, they don’t check to see if I’m all right. The few people who do, congrats to them. And to the doctors, thanks! And no thanks sometimes, when I’m sooooooo angry at the world. But for the most part, thanks to you, I’m living a much happier life today. I hate the shit in this world, but I’m just separating myself from it and making my own way. It’s working. But as soon as I get incapacitated by something whether it be cancer, old age, or whatever won’t be cured, I’m going. Hopefully it’ll just be the old age that I commit suicide for, before it gets me.
I’d been suicidal on and off for years, since I was an early teen. Family problems were a part of that, but in this post I won’t go into that. What I’ll rant on about is what happened last year to get this all started. You might find some reference to snippets of what I’m going to say in great detail, in previous posts from me. Last year I had to get one of my eyes sorted. There was calcium in it, and I was put in hospital a few times because the doctors wanted to save it from getting worse. Brief story is that this didn’t work out. Anyway, last year in I think November, I’d gotten calcium scraped off my right eye, and was suffering from a lot of medication side effects, of which my grandmother didn’t accept as something bad for me. She didn’t feel my pain or how bad I felt, so it didn’t matter to her. I hated her for that. I then blurted out after spewing up a lot and listening to her trivialise my feelings about this, downplaying how serious this was even though the nurses were trying to control it and what not, anyway I blurted out that I wanted to die, to commit suicide.
Nan laughed at me. She said I wasn’t gonna die, and not to say that, rubbing my back in an apparent sympathetic gesture. However, knowing who she is, she was again downplaying me. I know what sympathy is, and I know what downplaying is. After all that crap, lfe seemed to get better. Until December, when I didn’t realise a contact lens was still in my eye, and this is what caused a lot of pain. Another family member took me to the hospital after a bit of mucking around at the doctors, and anyway this person was supportive. She noted that I wasn’t reacting very well to a painkiller. Fast forward to a few months ago, this same person took me to the hospital so I could prepare for a day surgery. She nicely told the doctors on my behalf that I had bad reactions to certain medications which we listed. They helped me out and things were all right with that. Then April came. My right eye had to go. I had to have one medication taken off me, even though I thought that I was ok with taking this drug, but the doctor didn’t think so. I wanted to die that day, of a codeine overdose. All because of my eye and having to put up with medicine changes. Back in December I tried to suffocate, after spewing up, and because I didn’t want to face this in and out of hospital crap with my eye. Then in April I had to stay in the hospital for an extra day to get rid of the drug side effects and to be sure I wasn’t leaving to die at home.
Fast forward to two weeks ago. I was having a good time. I went to another city to get my right eye sorted out, for good. Today it’s all right… But a couple of weeks ago I had to put up with four little procedures to make it that way. On the Wednesday, my two procedures were painful, which wasn’t this doctor’s fault. We bitched about my other ophthalmologists, but then he could sort of see why they had to be a bit aggressive about making my eye socket bigger. It couldn’t be too big either, so now I can understand, I just couldn’t do so back then. Anyway! By the time I’d put up with a fair bit of shitting around on that day, I felt reeeeally sick. I can’t stand having anything shoved into my face let alone other procedures, I just couldn’t trust this doctor. I simply don’t trust any of them. It’s my trust issue really. It got in the way. I wanted nothing more to do with procedures.
I eventually told the doctor as he was finishing up with what he had to do, that I wanted him to shoot me. He didn’t believe me at first. So when I asked him to liie me down to shoot me, he took it seriously. I freaked out. I felt as though I’d never get to where I’d ask a doctor to euthanise me. I’d allways wanted my suicide to be a secret, at least the initial plan and attempt. I knew someone would eventually find me. But no, I finally had to tell someone, a doctor of all people. I do remember weeks before this, I had told my cousin to give me a gun so I could die then, but then that was ages ago, and I knew he wouldn’t be allowed to assist with suicide, and he’d find out if I’d tried to steal his gun. So I dropped that idea. I thought that maybe the doctor had more authority to get away with helping me die, but I found out that he also is not allowed to euthanise people.
When I think back on all this, and my past history of about nine months, it was this doctor, and maybe one other one, who saved my life. Now that my family knows, they don’t impose on my space at all, but they want to know what I’ve been up to after a while of me not seeing them. They’ve always been this way. But now they’re more concerned. When it comes back to how I hate promises so much, I now have to swear black and blue that I’ve just been walking, lazing around, playing games etc. It’s true though. Lately I’ve been thinking of suicide plans, but unlike what I was like a few weeks ago, a few months ago even, I haven’t actively tried to attempt to hide a suicide attempt. My plans are now in my mind, more for if I get old and need a way out, or if I get a terminal illness. Hopefully not the latter!
My family, the few people that is, who love me, are relaxing more and more each day. Their idea of finding me dead one day or finding me attempting suicide, or catching me out questioning someone into helping me, is getting more and more to be a remote memory. I’m glad for that. I didn’t care about the fuckheads who I know only want to use me for what they can get out of me. I did care about those who really care about me. I didn’t want to scare them. I still don’t want them to freak out if they don’t see me for a few days.
As for my grandparents, I hope she goes to a part of hell where people will pretend to sympathise with her when she’s sick, only for them to turn on her later. Sorry that’s so morbid, but that’s what she does and has done to me. We’ve had a love-hate relationship for years, now it’s a purely hate one. If someone is sick and/or spewing up, you don’t try to downplay what is happening! People don’t want advice when they’re at their lowest. They want to hear “I’m sorry this is happening to you. I love you! Loo it’s all right now, we’re trying to help you see? You’ll be better in a while, here, what do you want me to do for you right now?” Stuff like that would havve been really appreciated, and wouldn’t have elicited ongoing suicide plans and attempts in the making. So my grandparents can both die tomorrow for all I care. They cared about my other aunty’s fuckhead rotten drunkard husband so much when he went into hospital, and yet he still acts like nothing is wrong. Dirty rotten thing he is! But without the low-life shit remarks, I’ll just say that this chain of events has enabled me to stay alive today. Not the suffering bit and not the miserable crap. It was the nice people who came out of the woodwork who proved to me that I don’t have to die yet. And even thouggh I won’t keep promises of my own accord, I’m still going because people are teaching me how to keep them. And people are still helping me stay strong. I’ve learnt that I don’t need many people in my life to survive. It’s not how many people I have around me, it’s who I have around me that matters. Just one person who can make my day is better than the rest of the dickhead world that still exists without a care for any soul.
Hey guys, my name is Fabienne, I’m 17 and from New Zealand and I have been at war with myself since I was born. Literally. Mum said ‘you came into this world not really wanting to live’ so I guess life-long depression is my diagnosis. I’ve been bullied for having eczema since I was 5, being called names like “Scabby” and things like that, then was ostracized from age 6 through till age 14 at school.Â I moved schools in Spetember 2009 and started to get boys attention for the first time and ended up giving my body to them so I could feel ‘normal’ and not ‘scabby’ or ugly like the monster I believed I was. Still believe I am. I now get called ugly and scabby but also ‘slut’ and other similar names. I have been cutting for the past 6 months and use my eczema to rip my skin open. I love piercings and tattoos because they are forms of pain that make my body into a different kind of art, masterpiece, canvas, whatever you’d like to call it. I got help 2 weeks ago when I told the school nurse what’s going on, and my mum came to talk to her. Saw bunch of different nurses and doctors, including the Crisis team last Friday.
At the moment I’m on medication, but have relapsed twice in the past 3 months and don’t really know how I feel about it. I want help but then I don’t want people trying to offer solutions that take effort. I guess that’s part of the whole Depression and Anxiety picture. The only thing that has gotten me through is my need to change society for the better and knowing that if I go down, there’s a bunch of kids who would follow me into the ‘light’ and I don’t want that to happen. It is also my dream to give birth to a beautiful baby girl who I have dreamt about since I was 11. She is my motivation.
Well, that’s me, nice to meet you all.. I think..
Since I was the age of 15 (I’m 23 now) I have had various suicide attempts, each time either I fucked up at the last minute or the police intervene. I’ve been to psychologist, psychiatrist, specialists, councilors and been admitted to a mental health faculty. The past 3 years have been the hardest to cope with. I’ve tried getting help, but got nowhere. I get the feeling society wants me to kill myself (and I don’t blame it).
What shits me is that these attempts are quite life threatening, yet no-one has ever diagnosed me with a condition other than anxenity, but each time I’m talking with doctors they say “it’s more than anxenity”. I’ve been refused to be medicated on the excuse that I was a heroin addict (18 months clean) and prescription pills may turn me into a addict again. Only recently has the suggestion that my problem maybe a cyst or tumor in the brain. I’m currently on a waiting list to get a MRI scan done. Deep down I’m hoping for a tumor as a dignified death without being remembered as “coward” for taking my own life.
I used to own a small business which I closed 1 years ago, it did quite a good turnover until the economy went to shit. Since then I’ve struggled to find work, As of 3 months ago I was taken off welfare payments because of a “clerical error”. So now I don’t have any income other than pawning my stuff or collecting scrap metal from bins..
To be honest, I don’t really want people telling me “it’s going to be ok” and “I’m here to talk to”. My mind is made up that somehow I will die in the near future.
I don’t know why I am posting this…. other than somewhere in the world it’s written down that I can’t handle being alive anymore.
i went to one, just a check-up
with my parents
the other day
and when she did that fabric around your arm
well before she did it really
she had to tell me
“roll up your sleeve.”
in my head i was
and trying to find a way out of doing what
she told me to do.
so i just rolled up my sleeve.
this was not one of the ways
i imagined the finding out.
my mom gasped
as the nurse wrapped the
fabric around my upper arm
“what happened to your arm?”
i glanced at it
my mind working furiously,
“they don’t know, they don’t know”
trying to think of a way to explain away the
i settle on
“i fell down the stairs
because i was running.
didn’t want to be late for school.”
they didn’t find the flaw in my alibi
that the stairs, the edges
the part that would’ve scraped my arm
have metal covering them
and that the cuts are recent
yet i haven’t worn a t-shirt in weeks
and that the cuts are criss crossing
so many of them criss crossing
instead of being just a scrape
like they would be if i really did
so they still don’t know
so they’ll be extra pissed when they find out
that i cut
and i lied.
I will spare you my sob story. Here’s what you need to know. I am 23, married and a stay at home mom to a 4 year old little girl. I have been depressed since I was a child. I have times where I am okay but I always end up feeling depressed more often than not. I first considered suicide around 13 years old but never really had intentions or means to do so. In my family mental disorders are not considered medical and I would be told to just get over it.
Now, present day I am more depressed than ever. I think about suicide on a daily basis and have become almost numb to the idea. Obviously I’m still hanging on. The only reason is for my daughter but I can’t help but feel like she would thrive if she was not being held back by my anxieties and depression. I want to live. I want to see her grow up but my demons are taking over my head and killing myself is mostly all I think about.
My problem is I have had bad experiences with doctors in the past. I have never discussed my depression with a doctor, I’ve just had bad experiences in general and been given the run around that we are all familiar with.
I need to know how to make myself go and tell a doctor I need help. Just the thought of telling a doctor I have thoughts of suicide, feel sad most days and I am extremely irritable makes me feel even worse. I just can’t bring myself to do it. I have finally come to accept that I need to get help to live an active and healthy lifestyle for my daughter. I want to be better and I want to set an example. Even making the appointment is a challenge Â Making phone calls has always been hard for me, I’ve somehow developed anxiety and hate calling anyone. I feel helpless.Â
I’m not suicidal ( I think). I don’t have a shitty life (from aÂ privilegedÂ family). I’m not a teen (no hormone imbalance).
Though, I do feel like a piece trash most of the time. (I know….you can call me a whinny ***** later)
I’m one of those people that no one will ever think to be depressed. I’m in university. I have a lot of “friends”. I have a loving and successful family. Yet I hate myself most of the time because as a single child to a very privileged family, I’m bloody mediocre and boring as a piece of white paper.
Most people around me often say I’m tough, cheerful and independent yet I would gladly burst into tears the moment I walk into solidarity. I’m a female virgin at the age of 21 because I rejected every advance from men and women.(frankly, I don’t care about gender) Other times I feel like they are just toying with me because I’m tragically fat looking even though my BMI seems to be fine.
Academically I’m a disaster. I had scholarship when I was in highschool and beginning of university but I’ve failed two years of my university. (I’m not in arts, before anyone tries to guess) Every time I step onto campus I feel like I don’t belong there. It’s a great university, high ranking in the world, very nice environment with a lot of supportive people. I’m from a family of elites who went on to be CEOs, doctors and professors. I HATE that I lack the self control to study as hard as them. I HATE that I’m the person that during gatherings, people look to with sympathy in their eyes. Yet I’m too cowardly and pathetic to change it thus far. How many times I’ve bruised my fist, my head and cried my eyes swollen and swear to change yet never did.
I KNOW, I KNOW that logically I’m just being a whinny spoiled kid. Part of me think what I experience is NOTHING compared to some of the other stories here (the real ones at least) yet I’m slowly being driven insane by inaction and staleness of my life. I’ve thought of suicide long and hard but the fear of disgracing my entire family is even higher than my own life. So, I think I’m not suicidal, at least not now.
There…there’s my rant. Now people can proceed to ask me to die (with detailed ways on how to no less)…
If anyone actually bothered to finish reading this I thank you.
Otherwise….as you and I were…
I’m 24 years old. I have a bachelor degree.Â I can’t find a job. I live with my parents. Everyday I feelÂ like they don’t want me at home. Their home. I don’t feelÂ like it is my home anymore so I spend all the time in my room trying not to disturb them. When my mother was pregnant of meÂ she took a overdose of pills not caring about the baby. My dad didn’t want me to be born and the doctors said I was going to have serious health problems because of the overdose. So it was better to abort me they said. However I was born. And I feel so sorry. My mother says I shouldn’t be born and once while we were having dinner she said I’m worthless for not being able of finding a job and she wished she had done what the doctors told her to. My dad just stays there and doesn’t say a word. I also have olderÂ sisters. Everytime my parents talk to them in front of me they feel the need to humiliate me and they tell me how good my sisters are at what they do. I am good at many things too mom and dad. You just don’t care. I can draw and paint. I now manyÂ languages and I’m good at studying. You just don’t want to see it. It’s hard to find a job now because of the economic crisis and it is depressing enoug. But they say it’s my fault…
I avoid lookingÂ at their faces and saying a word because I feel so sorry for existing and making them dislike me everyday. I wish I could end this but IÂ lack the courage to do so. I don’t have aÂ life. I don’t have friends. I cry alone in my room everynight and I feelÂ like a prisioner in my own room and body. It’s sad to be born and having to know every day you are not desired. I wish I was never born. I feel so sorry… I hope one day I’m able to make them proud of me.
I thought that having a crush was normal. It is, but it’s not when that person is all that you think about. You dream about them. You daydream constantly about them saying that they like you the same way you like them. These things aren’t normal. I think I’m just fucking going insane. Trevor is honestly the only thing I can think about. He’s my safe haven, in a way. I focus on him instead of focusing on how much pain I’m in. I guess it might be normal, but it doesn’t feel that way. I don’t want to go crazy. I don’t want to tell the people I love that I hate them because the voices in my head tell me that I do. I don’t want to go to a mental institution where doctors don’t listen to me because they think I’m a hopeless case. I don’t want someone to find and read my diary like Garrett did. I don’t want anyone to know how I really am. I really don’t want to back to where I was, but I’m falling back there. Garrett’s gone. He moved on Tuesday. I guess I’m just gonna forget about him like I’ve forgotten about everybody else. I’ve forgotten how it felt when Trevor held my hand that day. I’ve forgotten how good it felt to smell his cologne. I’ve forgotten how good it felt to have the guy I like feel the same way about me. What I haven’t forgotten is the regret. The regret of not just pulling him into a huge embrace. The regret of never telling him how I felt. The regret of never telling the truth. The regret of hiding. The regret of wasted time. I don’t want to feel pain without hope anymore. But I don’t want to live for just this, either. I want to live for so much more. My best friend, Jamie, might have breast cancer. I can’t lose her… She’s all I have left. I honestly can’t take living without someone else. If someone else goes, I’m probably gonna go, too. I don’t want to live without someone else. I’m gonna go cry myself to sleep. Bye for now…
Doctors tend to ask if you are suicidal. I’m not. I accepted a while ago that I could not bring myself to do anything that intentionally hurt the people I love. Since I first wrote this sentence down, a close friend of mine took his own life. Before this, I had begun to feel increasingly like my desire not to be here anymore was beginning to outweigh my desire not to break my family’s hearts. Because, much as I don’t see the appeal, I have to admit that it would. I struggled, in the wake of my friendâ€™s suicide, to understand how I felt about it. At first, I thought I was sad; itâ€™s the obvious emotion, and I was sad; I was sad for his family and for his girlfriend, for the devastation that was so evident. But more than that, I gradually realised that I was jealous and, much to my horror, I was happy for him. Because I knew, I think, the relief he must have felt in his decision. And as much as it broke my heart that he died alone, and so far away from home, I was pleased that he had escaped whatever had brought him to that ledge.
Ever so selfishly, I was also a little angry at him because witnessing my familyâ€™s reaction to his death made it impossible for me to escape. I should probably say that my parents are aware of my history of depression and I am extremely lucky in how thoroughly loving and supportive they are. They worry about me more than I can stand sometimes, because I can see how sad it makes them that they canâ€™t fix everything for me. If I killed myself, they would think they had failed me, and they haven’t – not once.
Ideally, I think I would just like to stop. To lie down somewhere, and then everyone can carry on with their lives without having to stop and mourn, and I can just quietly curl up and wait this out. Because I have to ask: at what point do we acknowledge that it’s not working? That we tried but, quite frankly, no good is coming from this and it’s exhausting. Why is there shame in that? Iâ€™m not saying that humanity is a bust (although sometimes I wonder, I mean seriously, look at it.) But, say you make a hundred mugs; chances are, some portion of those mugs are gong to wrong – they’ve got holes in or whatever. You can pour as much coffee as you want through those bad boys, it’ll just seep right out of them. They’re not fit for purpose. And that’s fine. Throw the mug out, start again, whatever. Don’t keep pouring shit into it. It’s just plain stupid. I mean, a terrible analogy, but stupid nonetheless.
I think people get angry about this kind of attitude. I know that there’s some vague consensus that life is precious and I get that, I do. I am happy for people who feel that way. But, on the other hand, it’s not really is it? We are all beautiful little snowflakes sure but, to be fair, there are bloody billions of us; some of us are bound to melt before we ever settle.
So now I find myself in an entirely new situation The only other time I have been suicidal was during a severe episode and it was not at all like this, it was desperate and urgent. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that I didnâ€™t want to die – I just didnâ€™t want to be in the place I was anymore. But this time, it isnâ€™t fear – itâ€™s resignation, it’s acceptance. I have thought about it a lot and in a strangely objective manner, and I have come to the conclusion that what I would like more than anything is to stop. But, since I canâ€™t right now, I have to work out how to keep going until I can.
Lock the key to my heart. Never again will I let my pain start. Its now just healing, no sorrow to show, that love can hurt. But I will grow into the women that I know. Sometimes love will let you go…Hold your breath, forget,forgive. And it will show he’ll miss you dearly when you go. Be the person your happy to be. Until death takes part, when you’ll be let free. Freedom does last, it does show. Everyone has their opinions, so just let it go. Tomorrow is another chance to show to just have fun being me, until ill let go. Sometimes I don’t know how far I can really go. How much more I can take. Its like that breaking point is calling my name. Im running so fast and far. Yet ive never been closer. So much confusion, complete blur…Something these doctors cant seem to erase. Something in me that just cant be saved. So long farewell, ive done my best. Just itching for the ones who never failed me, the ones who’s never lied or deceived me. Just give me a sip, maybe more. Cant hurt more than the broken life ive created. Its something so hard to understand, yet if you knew the feeling, the high and euphoria….the place I call my savior. You would never ever leave it behind! 2 sips is fine, just pop 2 pills of each and I feel divine. With those puffs in my lungs I exhale happiness. Its something so undeniable to me, with the moon and the stars gleaming bright. The world sound asleep, I cant but feel more alive. All the pain and pieces just seem to mend themselves. Even if its a moment, its those seconds of breath I treasure most.
I have been on medication (viibryd) for 6 weeks.Â doc says it will help.Â He also gave me clonopin for anxiety at work.Â I am 42 divorced, no kids, just a great dog who was thrown from a car window and i rescued him.Â I will not committ suicide and leave my dog.Â no one would care if i die, i come from a “traditional italian family” your not supposed to have depression, you are supposed to “snap out of it and smile” well i cant.Â and lord knows i’ve tried and tried and tried.Â I feel now that since i’ve been with this job almost 15 years i have to finish out tax season but i want to die every day, but as i said, i wont leave my dog and i havent figured out a way to end his life without hurting him, he is old and suffering with some ailments so i would be giving him “life” again.Â I have written out my “letters” explaining to “everyone” not to be one of those “suicide suriviors” who cant go on.Â MY parents dont give a crap – dad only cares about the money i give him and i think my mom cares a bit more but her loyalty is to her husband and it always will.Â they will probably be more upset about how to tell everyone i’m dead – because i shouldnt “shame” the family name.Â My 2 brothers dont care, they will just hope my parents dont ask them for money to pay for a funeral.Â I have decided exactly how i’ll do it – maybe pills, but my family doesnt give a shit and this job is what is really getting to me.Â a boss who constantly makes me feel bad so he can make his kids who basically do nothing all day look good.Â i have talked and talked and talked to doctors, etc. their advice is to find another jobÂ well hello im in NY jobs hard to come by (just like everywhere else), but if the meds do help more, maybe i will survive till the 15 then resign and get another job.Â i just wonder what there really is to live for.Â i have a sick cousin, 40 with huntington’s disease – i see him weekly and they have just put a feeding tube in him – there is no cure the disease is horrible, how could i end my life when he’s fighting to live every day….. thanks everyone for listening.Â However, every day i feel more and more like everyone would be happy if i wasnt around anymore.Â i used to be “happy” now i’m so sad i cant stop crying…. so much more to write but this was my first post.Â I wish you all strength and love and whatever will help you escape the pain we are all suffering.