each and everyday is a part of my history, a history that will be with me forever. unfortunately, i know that forever, i am going to look back on these years of my life and all i’m going to see will be an ugly kid with mental illnesses and no friends, just, wasting her life away. i want my history, i want my past, present, and future, to be happy, i want to do something worthwhile rather than just doing this wasting. uhm, yeah… this is not really what i imagined my life would be like.
my ocd is at an all time high, and i have no idea what to do about it — please help?
The difficult thing with the not-yet part, is the illness. Illnesses. Just because I’ve informed the committee that there will be a delay, the pain doesn’t vanish. It gets alleviated somewhat by the placatory there there, one day it’ll be over …but there are still major episodes and major episodes don’t give a fuck about listening, they just scream.
But I can probably do it. Hopefully.
The world is not seeming sweeter as a result. Colours are not brighter. By the time I can go, there won’t even be any goodbyes to say. Does that make me luckier or unluckier than you, who will create anguish in your wake?
I’m new to this site. I was going through a hard time and subconsciously started to look at suicide related links, which lead me here.
I’ve had depression, bulimia and other illnesses like insomnia for about eleven years now. Although I tried and failed to commit suicide about five years ago, I’m generally a cheerful person and eight years with a good counsellor has lead me a long way.
I still have problems holding a job down, but the biggest blow is that the one love I’d been with for five years told me recently thatÂ he is marrying someone else. I have no choice but to respect his wishes and hopes he becomes happy, but it’s more difficult dealing with mild suicidal thoughts like this.
The irony is, when you’re needy and desperate you tend to isolate yourself, and it’s only when you’re okay by yourself that you can make real friends.
I’m not going to commit suicide any time soon. I tried before I realised I’m too chicken to actually do it. Â I just wanted to put my thoughts out there, since there seems to be a lot of people living a hard life.
It’s been a long road and things are going to get tougher I can tell. But I hope I become my own friend a bit more and manage to die when I’m supposed to, instead of trying to end my own life.
I’m nearing my end and I have so few words to say. After all these years of dealing with PTSD from my first suicide attempt,borderline personality disorder and various other illnesses that have earned me the humiliating title of “insane”. After years of humiliation and abuse for being the gay goth chick, being turned down for every job, and being shat upon at every turn. After relapsing over and over again and after losing most of the quality of my life, I’ve decided to take my own life and put an end to the misery that probably won’t get better. It’s taken a lot of thought and consideration to make this personal decision. It’s hard considering everything that happened after the first attempt, but I want to die even when I’m at peace of mind, so I’m ready to take this final commitment. No one had helped me, no one wants to help a freak anyways, there is no hope for my future, and I’m ready to alleviate the suffering. I’m ready to give myself mercy that this sick world is incapable of giving. This week I’ll probably pack up my stuff, write and proofread my final wishes, and find the bullets to the .45 handgun in the house…or just hang myself again if all else fails. I feel so liberated since choosing death. Please wish me luck…or enjoy your lives like I never could.
I am so so so suicidal. I don’t know what to do anymore, honestly. I know there are others out there who have gone through worse then me, or feel similar things. but it’s like, the people who should care the most about me don’t. No one does. Even my best friend. When I try venting to them, I swear I just come off as whiny. and I have random people always saying, ‘Im here for you!’ and I apprecate that, but it’s not the same.
maybe I don’t want to be saved? I feel as if I was born for self destruction. Yoou know? It’s just not fair. Â Don’t get me wrong, I know there are kids out there who are dying of cancer, or other illnesses. Hey, iif I could, I’d take thier cancer for them and give them my life. So I’d die and they wouldn’t.
I don’t know anymore.
I cannot take this.
So number two, my grandad.
I’ve already mentioned him briefly but I shall give you a bit more detail.
He was always ill, but it never seemed to phase him. I think in total he suffered 2 strokes, 1 “mini” stroke, a heart attack, several ongoing illnesses and probably some other things. For about the last five years he has been in about out of hospital and nursing homes for people recovering but he never really did recover. As well as being ill we think he had dementia, he often forgot where he was, who we were and even our names. That hurt, a lot. But anyway this last year or so he was slowly getting worse, every time I saw him he looked closer to death and it was killing my grandma too. Sadly he died last month, on my aunties birthday strangely, and I attended his funeral a couple of weeks ago. I’ve only been to one funeral previously that I hardly remember but this was horrible. I placed a flower on his coffin before he was buried and I felt so empty. The fact that human lives are so fragile and can be taken in an instant, or dragged away over a number of years disgusts me. I am religious but I don’t believe in a higher power deciding on events, I mean how could you? With all the death and pain and war, surely no one could let that happen. I miss my grandad a lot, but he hasn’t really been my grandad for years, so in a way he’s at peace now and so is my grandma. R.I.P.
This one’s pretty long, sorry if I bore anyone. I should preface by saying that I’ve been depressed for four years. I was formally diagnosed with major depressive disorder January of this year, but I knew long before. I’ve never had a true friend, anything even close to a relationship (been led on a few dozen times), and I feel alone constantly. Recently my diagnosis was changed to suggest the cause of my pain is ADD. I’m not sure if the doctors are right, but amphetamines are helping a bit lately. This is the story of the last eight months or so, from the first time I attempted suicide.
The first time I tried (I took a massive overdose), I felt like a failure. I was expecting to go to sleep (pass out, really) and never wake up. That wasn’t the case. Instead my liver decided it was going to weather the storm and just make me sick for a few days. I didn’t even tell anybody what I’d done, I was scared they’d put me in the hospital “for my own safety”.
A few weeks later I decided to try again. Same plan, stupidly, I took an even larger overdose of the same drug. Again it didn’t kill me, somehow. I still wish it had. That time I told my parents and they took me to the ER (at like 2am) where I waited behind kids sick with the flu and other obviously low-risk illnesses (I shit you not, three kids with nothing but a cold, I heard their parents at reception) came and left before I was even called into a waiting room. From there I waited another hour, scared and alone because my parents were asked to stay outside to finally be greeted by a fucking nurse with a HADS evaluation booklet. I firmly expressed that I was having suicidal thoughts, she noted it, and came back about 20min later, I was being asked to leave. Like I didn’t even matter. I figured if the people getting paid to care, didn’t, then my life really was as worthless as it felt
Fast forward five months, five agonizing months where I lost my job, slipped further into my old alcoholic routine (drink from sun up to sun down three or four days out of the week), started cutting, lost (or rather drove away) all my friends and considered myself totally written off. I’d started taking an anti anxiety med, lorazepam, which had the wonderful side effect of making me slip in to episodes of rage and psychosis when coupled with my antidepressant. I’d been able to control it for a few weeks, taking the aggression out on pillows, walls, myself… but it eventually became too much and my anger was directed towards my parents. My mom got scared and I was dragged, once again to that same ER by two wonderful lads in uniform to have my “medication adjusted”. Same story, waited for four hours then got sent home. Wound up having to get a taxi about an hour away because nobody was there to bring me home.
Two days later the thoughts came back. I just wanted to be calm and not angry anymore, I took an entire bottle of my lorazepam out of frustration, confusion and ignorance, which did exactly what I didn’t want, it made me angrier. 15mg of a potent sedative made me ANGRIER. I went out to yell my parents some more, no cops this time, I just broke my hand then broke down crying to them. The following morning I went back to the hospital where I was admitted. They kept me overnight then the following morning I was told I was being taken off my antidepressant (a powerful SNRI) with nothing to help the withdrawal. After being awake for three days straight I decided to leave. (You can do that here if you’re in voluntarily and not considered a risk to your own health or the safety of others). After getting home I replaced my antidepressant with Vyvanse (think Ritalin for adults) which seemed to work like a charm. Until the night, when it wore off and made me worse than ever before.
Here I am, two weeks later, at 5am and suicidal as hell, crying my eyes out writing this because I know nobody cares, and I’ve made up my mind. I’m planning to do it Saturday night when nobody will be home. No meds this time, just a rope around my neck. Maybe they’ll find me quick enough to reuse an organ or two, but I doubt it.
Anyways. Just thought I’d share my story, so at least there will be some sort of record to how fucking horrible this past year has been.
I have tried it, it has left me with lasting chronic pain and other side effects and frankly, not only do I wish I’d completely succeeded, I wish my naive mother had had a convenient termination when she learned the dismaying news. In the mid 1960s. So I’ve been stepping this tortured fucking polka awhile.
I think this is the Christian site and I am a Christian (or at least I claim I am, although I guess I’m about the world’s shittiest one………..me or a certain US-Egyptian low budget film-maker). Well, the Word says: “Be in the world but not of it.”
I’ve never been really “of” it. And I’m damn jack of being in it.
In explanation: My psych illnesses have relegated me to such gleeful joys as: Being judged by my family / peers (even a delightful young lass last December on a local avenue who angrily yelled out that I was a “fucking retard!”); consistent bullying by those usually 1,000 times more influential, 100,000 times less empathic and 1 billionth of my intelligence (hard to believe I know, but I was once one of the highest fliers at Sydney’s leading high school, or at least I was when well); Z-grade public housing (my ex-next door neighbour is right now doing an eight stretch in the state pen for violent abuse and threats against the police and half this suburb); state government services that either don’t understand, don’t care, don’t have the time / resources or choose the bang-you-up-for-a-month-in-the-nutpokey option (ten times since 1986 in two states and counting!); having low social adeptness that means that not only do I do things like get kicked out of parties / jobs / billet houses / whole cities, but also has seen me fail to gain true intimacy with someone of the opposite sex (meaning of course a lady, I think you can tell from the latent testosterone here I’m a bloke).
That last one has led me to a serious and perception-warping porn addiction. This combined with my hyper-reclusiveness, pain and broken fuse has me convinced that I’m either due for imminent prison / long-term high-security psych incarceration / relieving merciful death.
I’m a loser. My life is a dead loss. Time to cut the losses.
Buuuuuuuuut…………………..just so you know, don’t try it the way I did. Not elaborating too much more (actually I don’t really want to anyway), but imagine how these little posts would be if they came from a wheelchair (which in fact I was temporarily in during my six month-long recovery)………………
I’m just going to write and I’m not going to bother writing well. I know I will die of suicide, I just know it, since i was 12 i had a bet on with myself that i wouldn’t make it past nineteen, so just two years to go and it should be over. I’m not even going to bother going through all the shit I have been through, starting when i was four years old, and yet i tell people it all the time for the joy of seeing their faces. I’ve been raped and abused both sexually and emotionally (suprisingly the emotional abuse is worse) and it has just screwed me up. I have depression and I tried to get help, the doctor was a ***** who judged me, the therapist didn’t get in contact for two months and then wants to see me in my own home, which quite frankly i don’t feel comfortable in. Dear God, i have lost count of the suicide attempts, I could have done it so many times as well, i tried to jump off my roof only to slip the wrong wayÂ back into my room as i was jumping, i managed to take 7 painkillers in a field before a friend found me and Â watched me for 48 hours while i was being sick instead of dying, i have prepared to dig the knife into my neck before my brother knocks the door .. . . . it’s actually ridiculous, i just don’t care much for anything anymore, but i have one person trying their all to keep me alive, and i love them too much to hurt them, i keep trying to pull away but they wont let me, through all the horrific flashbacks and hallucinations and suicidal intent they just dont get scared away. Admittedly, if they do keep me alive I have plans, i will travel the world and i WILL write. I will write to break the taboo surrounding mental illness, the system is failing people who still have hope, it is failing people with these illnesses, the general public don’t fear physical illness and yet all they have to hear from someone is “depression” or “multiple personality disorder” and they run a bloody mile and they judge (ofcourse this doesn’t count for absolutely everyone but the only people i have encountered that have understood are the people who have been through it themselves, and there is a LOT of them) . . . still, no matter these ambitions, i still want to die, i was attempting suicide at 7 or 8 and im still doing it now… it sounds bad, but the world isn’t enough and there is no point, all anything is is electrons interacting with each other, nothing is real, the only things we really like are chemicals in our brain, and mine are messed up, so if life is so pointless then i should be able to die when i want to, it’s no big deal . . . the only glimmer of hope is that although i put no value on my own life, i put value on others lives because THEY value their own lives, and if they need me then i will stay, because then it’s worth it . . . it just helps to ramble with no-one interrupting and pretending they understand when all they get is the monday morning blues…. i have a point
I seem to stumble on this website at the oddest hours of night.Â
It’s only 4:43AM, and I can’t sleep. This is a self induced insomnia. For the first time in ages I scored Adderall and I felt like myself this evening. All good things come to an end, I’m facing the enviable come down. Maybe it’s my brain reeling from the dopamine flood it just endured. I’ve just gotten to thinking that being a depressed addict is probably one of the worst illnesses in the world. Use to live, and when the dope runs out, curl up and die.
It makes me nostalgic. I miss when I was a happier person, a smiling child. Bathed in ignorance. But here I am, laying next to my mother tweaking my ass off. It reminds me of the way I lost the only person I have ever loved to my own selfishness. Heroin addiction took it’s toll on my best relationship, and I was left alone immediately after I came back from rehab. That really shook me, probably in the deepest places of my heart and mind. I’ve never fully recovered from that.
I miss a lot of things, but I miss her the most. A reason to live suddenly stripped away to nothing but a stranger. I should be glad she got away from me, but I ache to think about my mistakes. The worst kind of hurt is knowing you had a choice to prevent it.
Traversing seas of empty faces in a cold world really sucks without having something to look forward to. This is where I am: the numb, the hurt that noIt even death can cure. I’m well beyond tears and jaded past my years (OOO rhyme). It sucks that opening up to people is so difficult because of the masks that I wear, to assure everyone but myself that I’m okay.
But I’m not.
I never will be.
I’ll start from the beginning. I had a close, dear friend basically called him my brother. Xain, he was always there for me through thick and thin and would fight tooth and nail to keep me happy. He fell in love with me(this isn’t the root of the story) and I told him how i felt but kept him as a friend none the less and let him flirt how he wants. He was wiccan and openly gay, as a christian who was raised to love all I judged him not. He was adopted from Ireland when his druggie of a mother had him hooked on every drug she could find while pregnant with him was shot by his dad who was an even bigger druggie. But before all that Xain was put out as a prostitute earning drug money for his mom and a better place to sleep and eat. He was also in the IRA and had his first love there. I guess this is the beginning of it all…his friend was out on a gun run through british land and was caught, he was taken to a town, called forth a group in the center. Xain rushed to see what was going on but what he saw was his first love on his knees with a gun on his head. The sound to break the crowd was a gun shot, ringing throughout the town…Xain witnessed at the age of twelve his first love being executed. This was the second down fall. As he got older his dad busted in the house and shot his mom then pointed the gun at Xain and shot, the bullet barely missed his spine causing him to suffer fromÂ epilepsy along with many other illnesses due from the drugs his mother used while pregnant. He was sent off to america with another girl from Ireland and they became family with a uptight christian family. Downfall three now begins. Xain was abused mentally, physically and emotionally to the point of cutting, burning and any other form of mutilation he could find. He has been yelled at, thrown down stairs, tossed out of the house, kicked out of school, shunned by basically everyone all because he was gay. All he wanted to to be loved even the slightest. This is around the time i met him at the age of 18. We instantly clicked as friends, had so much in common, basically like my brother and Lyxi my sister. Xain began to tell me about his home and school situation. He apologized countless times for his number changing cause he was getting death threats including being stoned to death. Xain tried his best to smile around me but i knew he was breaking and when he broke it was heavy and hit hard. Xain would cry and cry begging me to let him cut let him get rid of the pain but i refused to let him. I kept him safe, i took him in as family when no one else bothered to even have a first glance at him. He struggled through many abusive relationships, no one wanted to show him love like he wanted more than anything. He started getting worse early this year, more breakdowns, hospital visits, the cutting started, i thought he was at the end of his road. Then this guy came along, carefree stoner type. He loved Xain and Xain loved him. I met him on skpye and was honestly the coolest guy I’ve seen him with. I stayed in touch with him and Lyxi keeping tabs on how he was. Around april I was trying to get my life straight and i would talk to them every now and then, apparently not enough…so they kept trying to call me and i was too busy messing my life up. I came home april 18 early in the morning kinda hung over, noticed i had multiple missed calls from Lyxi thought nothing of it really. I saw on facebook Xain and Jason were engaged and i thought everything was all good…damn was i wrong. Jasson messaged me around 10 or so after i accepted his friend request saying, “Hey guess what”. Being goofy i replied about weed being legalized in all states then went on congratulating him and told him i was gonna call Xain, the next response was nowhere near my expectations…”Xain is dead…”. My heart sank, stomach went sour, emotions rushed in my head…i was praying it was a sick joke. Jason told me the reason Lyxi kept calling me was to for me to talk to Xain cause i was his only savior. He went off alone without his medicine and enduced Â a seizure which being alone lead him to die cause no one could help. I don’t know how long i cried, i don’t know how much alcohol i had to black it all out. It’s been almost three months since he passed away in April 18th, I’m still shaken by it all. I tell people about him all the time then when i said he passed away and they ask i just say he had a seizure in his sleep, which was not the case. Lyxi was broke down trying to contact me for a month straight but i couldn’t answer, i let her brother die cause i was too busy messing my life up. Xain was my brother, my buddy, my shoulder to always lean on and now he is gone, never to be brought back. I still have trouble with it and just think why couldn’t i of been successful in my attempts and he would still be here. People tell me to move on, hell i think my ex left me cause she didn’t see the point why i was still mourning. I’ve had family die and i would be ok after about a week or so, but never in my life had a friend die. I’ve experienced how Xain felt when he lost his first love to death cause i lost a close friend, a best friend, and a boy who i actually had feelings for. Now that he is gone my life is a jumble with a messed up sleep track. I just want someone if just one person to know suicide is never worth it, the impact and stress it puts on those who actually loved you is just so unbearable…if anything give life another chance. I failed to give Xain his but you shouldn’t give up yours. If anyone ever needs someone to talk to I’m always available. You can email my silly address email@example.com or add me on skype: pandabeast4. I rather take in someone who is looking for a way out than have it happen ever again. Thank you for listening to my story.
I have been suffering from depression for most of my life.Â I am also anorexic and bulimic.Â I’ve been dealing with the consequences of my illnesses, including stomach ulcers, amenorrhea, and anemia.Â My body is shutting down, but I don’t care.Â In fact, this is kind of what I wanted.Â Slowly, but surely, I’m going to die.Â My disorders reassure this motive.Â Today is also my birthday.Â Guess my wishes are coming true.
I have this friend, he’s awesome. And sometimes I actually let him in, emotionally. I don’t do that to anybody. I hide my feelings fairly well unless instigated. He’s getting fed up with my lack of concern towards myself. I wish I could just be like, “I’m really just venting, let me freak out. It’s fine, I’m not going to cut up.”. But alas here I am, getting all guilted up because I can’t change who I am. I’m completely worthless. Don’t try to tell me I’m not, I know the truth. I can’t literally remember a moment that didn’t end in guilt or shame. I always felt like a mistake, thus being a perfectionist. I personally feel that if I am not what some one wants me to be (perfect) then why are they even hanging around me? I’m not a lovable person, I don’t have cute quirks. I’m annoying, onbnoxious, loud and quite frankly I’m not smart. I know what I want out of life, but I also know it’s a pipe dream. I just want to help people. Anyone really. I can’t stand the thought that some individuals are so selfish that they can’t look in the mirror and go, “remember that person who you made cry? Well your a person too ass-hat.”. I can’t stand the feeling that god-forbidd I stand up for myself, what if that ‘bully’ just needed to vent? I can be a punching bag! What if, while I’m trying to defend myself, this person is torn inside and I’m too flawed to realize. I look up ways to die when I start panicking. For me, life is an amazing beautiful thing, but I don’t deserve it. I don’t take risks or advantages and I’m usually left behind anyway, and I don’t blame them. I’m depressing and vulgar, I have ridiculous fears and irrational freak-outs. I’m high-maintenance to an extraordinary degree. Who wants to deal with that? No one. I honestly feel like when I die, great things will happen for everyone else. I’m too selfish to die. Yet there are so many kids, young kids, who wants to live so badly. Kids in wheelchairs, kids with illnesses, and here I am, perfectly capable of living, moaning and groining. How selfish is that? I wish there was a way i could give my years to someone who deserves them. I want to die, but people don’t see it the way I do. My parents would save so muchÂ money, I’d be helping the economy, considering I have two jobs. My bosses will find someone amazing to replace my half-hearted work ethic. My coworkers wouldn’t have to worry about seeing the ‘sad one’ today. My freind(s) wouldn’t struggle to keep me afloat. My awesome friends could finally stop worrying. I’ve screwed up so many things in my life. I’m a horrible person. I’m too scared to try yet too scared toÂ leave. I’m so fucking annoying and selfish. I’m complaining right now about having a ‘healthy’ life, who does that? I don’t care how I look, though I’m not the prettiest either, so many people doÂ awesome things. Edgar Allen PoeÂ married his cousin and dreamt aboutÂ being cut up into a thousand peices. Everyone who eveer loved him died.Â He didn’t kill himself.Â William Blake was clinically depressed and watched two teenagers grow up in a fancy living when he wrote a poem that changed my life. Who says that can’t be any one of you?Â People who are the lowest are the only ones who can shed light on the situation. The suicide situation. I’m going to use this place to vent considering I can’t screw up my freinds lives. I refuse too, but these dark thoughts, they’re ripping me apart limb by limb. But along with venting, please..talk to me? If you have a problem, a thought, a question, I’m here!