Fighting echoed though my house and ears. Screaming and yelling from my younger brothers mouths, screaming “I hate you!” “I wish you were never born!!” “Your stupid!”. All because you messed up, you made a mistake on a video game, geeze why this again? You never had suicidal thoughts before, where did you get the thought? You went up to your room silently screaming. You tried to drown but chickened out, you grabbed a belt and tightened it around your throat but the closet poll wasn’t high enough, you got another thought, you grabbed a razor you thought it wouldn’t cut good enough so you grabbed an exact-o knife and cut deep. The blood slowly came out then it rushed down your arm. The tears are coming faster than before, “Why won’t I die!?” you feel dizzy and tired so you lie down asking to die begging to die. Your mom calls you down you quickly search for a long sleeve shirt you can only find a white one. You run down the stairs hiding your arms, your mom speaks in a voice so gentle “I’m sorry for yelling at you today, and I’m sorry about your brothers there boys.” your mom looks at your shirt and says, “you need to change your shirt its dirty” she points at a stain you breathe a sigh of relief, you go back up change and sit then once again your mother calls you down. You head down and she hugs you tells you how much she loves you, you start to cry. “Why are you crying?” you wipe the tears but they keep coming. “I made a mistake…” “What? What did you do?” you look at her worried face you shake your head no. She seems to get worried and starts to raise her voice “What did you do?! Tell me now!” you slowly roll up your sleeves and you regret it so much. Your mom grabs your arm and screams and turns white. “GOTO YOUR ROOM!” she’s panicking and calls your dad he rushes home from work and they see all your cuts and your goodbye note. You can never forget this day, its the day you tried to die, the first time…
Every since I was little, I’ve never wanted to be me. To be me is to always be depressed, always sad, always morose.
Life has made me into a dark ball of anger and hate, and jaded beyond the moons. I do not hate all of me, but I’m tired of most of me- the me that is non-functional, the me that keeps me in the doldrums, the me that keeps myself prisoner in my own mind.
Sigh. I’d rather trade me to be a “happy healthy idiot.”
Here is me.
- I am like the Great Attractor for bullies
- Everybody around me are either sadists, bullies or a quiet bystander.
- People accuse ME of something that I did NOTHING wrong.
- I am suffering from severe depression.
- I have thought about at least 3 suicidal thoughts when I go to school.
- I HATE school.
- 99% of the time when I get bullied or when I fall down or get a cut NOBODY helps me.
- Teachers do nothing about the bullying or sometimes even bully me.
- People don’t quite understand me.
- I get bullied AT LEAST 5 TIMES A DAY.
- I am NOT exaggerating.
- I just (by “just” I meant a week ago) took an online test, it said I am Type IV gifted! “The type IV gifted are the angry and frustrated students whose needs have not been recognized for many years and they feel rejected in the system. They express themselves by being depressed or withdrawn and responding defensively. They are identified very late; therefore, they are bitter and resentful due to feelings of neglect and have very low self-esteem. For these students, counseling is highly recommended.”
- I am helpful, loving and caring to people, but people are NOT doing that to me.
- I don’t deserve the bullies I get.
- I want to make the world a better place but I can’t.
- I am very nice to people BUT people are absolutely HORRIBLE to me.
There’s some discussion as to what bah looks like. I’ll tell you what bah looks like. Here you go folks:
And while we’re at it, I found a picture of Cordless online. This is what she looks like after eating a hot pepper (…or after she’s done murdering someone with an axe…either or). Note the satisfied smile, and the crazed sleep-deprived murderous eyes… :
Which emoticon are you?
I just stumbled across the site two days ago. Decided to start posting today. I have to say it helps. Trying to help others feel better makes me feel better, for now. I guess it is why I have a degree in Psychology. That I don’t use anymore because of chronic illness. Oh well, none about that. I am going to try to go to sleep with thoughts of sunshine and light. lol Thank y’all.
Well, it’s the third day since I’ve left my dad’s house, yesterday I was very confident that everything would work just fine, now I’m not that sure… I’ve been feeling simply terrible since that, I simply don’t know what to do, which way to follow, I just want want someone to speak with, but who would want to be with me at a time like that? Even I don’t want to, I wish I could simply feel better but I can’t I don’t know for sure what’s wrong, but I’m sure something is just off… so many months and years having my feelings only for me so I could stop hurting those around me, over and over again, I started getting cold but now everything is just coming back and I simply don’t know how to deal with it.
It is simply too much and I just want to be heard but at the same time I don’t want to hurt anyone with this side of me, so I’m simply putting some distance between me and those who I care the most, but still… I want so bad to be with them… could someone… save me from myself?
my life was good when i was little. i am 13 years old now. my mom is an alcoholic and i don’t see her anymore. she used to beat me and my sister and my brother, and tell us we are worthless and her drinking problem is all our faults. my dad took us away from her, then i was diagnosed to ptsd, a stress disorder. i hate acting happy, and i feel so alone. i kinda think this isn’t going to help me at all, but i need to try it because i ran out of options and I’m really close to ending life. i feel so worthless and useless, so thats my story. the usual messed up teenager with bad grades that gets caught by the cops..
She smiles through a thousand tears,
and harbors adolescent fears.
she dreams of all that she can never be;
she wades in insecurity
and hides herself
Honestly, whats the point anymore? i hate life, and life hates me, who gives a damn if i go to hell. im already living in it, i can deal with it. And i wouldnt doubt it being better than my own pathetic life. If anyway i wanna go is going to be overdosing, cuz my mom has a big bottle of sleeping pills, and i could easily kill the whole bottle. Cant do a rope, since i dont know how to tie a noose, and i dont know where i could i put the rope, to hold my fat ass. Cutting too deep, i dont think i have sharp enough blades, and knowing my parents would knock on my door, being bitches as they are to me. And jumping…where could i jump off, and how would i get there. I dont want any movie crap, where police and firemen come to the building, saying “oh how i deserve to live” or “it gets better”. no FUCK that, ive been wait since 4th or 3rd grade. Almost 5 years of people saying, “its get better” dont give me that shit! I dont give a damn about myself, im prepared and ready to die. I just need the right date.
P.S. Feeling empty is better than feeling worthless,depressed,stupid, ETC.
Reason To Live: I Love You All <3
To be honest with you, I don’t remember the first time I did it. I never really cut at first.. It was more like scratching. I used to get my key and scratch my arm with it. It hurt… That was all I wanted at the time. That began over a year ago.
Why did I do it, you may ask..? Well I felt so helpless, I had no control over anything in my life and I thought that it would help, but it was more than that too! I felt numb. Nothing made me feel anything, but when I scratched myself, I felt pain… And I deserved to feel pain.
Everything was my fault. My parents’ divorce, my sister dropping out of college, my best friend getting pregnant… All my fault. After everything I’d done, I deserved to suffer. I deserved to feel pain andÂ only pain.
But it got to a point where just scratching my skin wasn’t enough… I had to bleed. I had to use a knife. I remember the first time I did that. It was the start of the school year. I rememberÂ why too. Â Being a redhead, naturally I get a lot of abuse for the colour of my hair. You’d think after fifteen years I’d be used to being calledÂ ginger. But that day it irked me more than usual. It wasn’t just the word… I’m fine with the word… It was the way it was said. It just made me feel so worthless. Like because of the colour of my hair, nothing about me matters. So that night while I was sitting on my bed crying while questioning life, the universe and everything, I opted to use a knife rather than a key.
And it was liberating.Â
That night I learned just how sadistic I really am. As soon as I made that first cut, my tears stopped. I was in awe… The sight of blood had been what I was really craving. It was amazing. I loved it. I loved how it felt to be in control.. I loved how the knife felt in my hand. I loved how the blood dripped down my arm. I loved every second of it.
Soon I became completely addicted. Almost every night I would mutilate my arm. A smarter person would have chosen the thigh, or somewhere easier to hide, but that was the least of my concern at the time. I didn’t care where it was because I didn’t want to live.
Months later I stopped. But it didn’t last long. I did it again. And then I stopped. And did it again. Stopped. Again.
Needless to say… IÂ can’tÂ stop.
It’s my drug.
I need it.
But I’m not as reckless as before. It’s not as often. Not as dangerous.
I don’t know where to go from here. Last night my mother found my instagram page. It had nothing bad on it but she freaked out. Look at my account is Mozar121. Anyways then she wanted to all of my accounts to everything, my email, facebook, everything and when I told her no she didn’t like that and told me to move out. I said I will if that means I don’t have to see you and then I was walking out the door when my dad showed up. We talked for a while which I never do but I told him somethings I’ve never told anyone. After all that I was feeling better but now whenever I see my mother I feel like wanting to kill myself. I can’t stand looking at her and I just need help on how to avoid the thing that will happen if I do keep seeing her. Help me please.
I think I might try in a couple days…
It’s earlier than I expected but I can’t handle this anymore…
Goodbye everyone… I hope you just follow your hearts…
My wrist lifelessly dangled off the edge of the porcelain tub; a stream of red tracing theÂ lines on my hand. A pool of crimson waited below. The bath water looked like a distilled merlot. I lay silently, salty tears racing down my face. My mascara sat idly under my eyes tired of running. With the little will I had left, I turned my head to look at the self inflicted mutilations. The word â€œ Helpâ€ was carved into my soft, white, flesh. Under that, â€œSave MEâ€ screamed for some attention, fresh blood still dripping down from the bottom of the E. My head jolted back. The cuts began to burn. The feeling in my arm was coming back. In the fit of my earlier rage, I felt numb. Therefore, i felt the need to feel. The sharp blade of my pocket knife digging into my wrists was a feather tickling an infantâ€™s face; a soft touch and a pleasurable feeling. It took about a half hour of watching the fluid drain out of my body to realize what I had done. The stinging began to fade again. The numbness had returned.
This isn’t really something I usually do, I’m more of the “bottle it up” kind of guy, but I really need to get this out and Google led me here as an appropriate place to do so. It’s up to you if you want to read all this, but at least if you do, I have some validation of my efforts. Which I imagine would be nice.
Well… here goes.
I should be happy or satisfied enough really, shouldn’t I?
I mean, I did life right. I left school, got a steady dead end job and got myself a place to live independently. In this tough economic climate, that’s a real fucking achievement apparently. Or at least that’s what everyone keeps telling me. But I can’t seem to gain any joy or even a modicum of satisfaction from it all. It all feels so sodding pointless.
I am waiting to die. That is the reality of it all. All of my achievements are worthless because I don’t care about them and nobody will remember them. Not that I really care about what others think or feel about me at this point. I’ve only met two people in my entire life who I could truly relate to and both died.
I’ve had relationships and a fair bit of meaningless sex, though I’ve never truly loved another person. This rather tragically includes my family. My parents are “there” I guess, but we don’t really see each other all that often since I moved out of my Mum’s house. I just could never emotionally attach to them, even as a child. I guess it didn’t help that they spent the majority of my youth arguing. The end result is I’m in a self perpetuating cycle of loneliness and recessiveness. I want someone to talk to and to be around but I hide away because it’s easier. I’m no good in social situations and I’m often ignored. This is partly because I try not to go outside and largely because my mind is a frazzled dick-shaft of a mess and that anything that comes out of my mouth is usually so cringe inducingly stupid or inappropriate that I just make everyone feel either nervous or awkward.
I escape reality through drink and books, though I can’t drink enough to achieve alcoholism due to crippling, anxiety related stomach pains. I’m on a pharmacy’s worth of medication as it is.
It’s just all so fucking tedious. Plain and simple. We waste the best years of our lives in education and work. It’s not worth it. The only thing keeping me going these last few years was a fear of “what comes next”.
Maybe it’d be easier if it was some kind of pact where I wouldn’t be alone but I don’t think that happens outside of comics and movies.
I think I’m ready to cross the line now though.
If you took the time read all of this, thank you for doing so. I can only apologize for taking up your precious time.
I just want someone who can trust and beaccepted by. I feel like no one cares about me and if I were to die tonight nobody would notice. I hate myself for being so lonely.
Heya. Â It’s me. Â I don’t really know what to put now that I’m trying to..
Let’s start with school (?) then home I guess.
Everyday I put on a pair of skinny jeans; most of the time they are plaid or a cool color like a greenish-blue, but other times its just blue jeans. Â Then a shirt which is either a band shirt that is too tight or one of my other shirts (including some band tees) that are way too loose. Â I have no shirts that actually fit me. Â Then I go to bathroom for hair and makeup. Â I almost always put on black eyeliner that is usually only on my upper eyelid and more often than not has a little wing or ‘cat-eye’. Â Sometimes I will put it on my waterline of my lower eyelid. Â For hair I usually don’t do anything. Â I’ll brush it sometimes, but I like it more when it isn’t brushed. Â Other than that I will sometimes braid it, put it in pigtails or use a clip/bow for my bangs. Â I have short hair that I tried to dye pink but it washed out in the front so its brown, purple, pink, and orange. Â And I always wear this tight black sweater with really long sleeves (It has a Pichu on the left side.)
Okay, now school. Â After myÂ routine I go to school. Â When the students enter we have to sit in the cafeteria (8th graders Cafeteria, 6 + 7 in the gym). Â Instead of sitting in any of the other 9 tables, I sit by myself at the side table. Â When my only friend gets there she sits by me. Â One or two other people will sit by me, but we never really talk much.
Then I venture to my locker where I shoved around in the hallways by people I don’t even know. Â Then to class where I sit at a table with three other kids that I barely know. Â I sit there will my head down all class, because we barely get any work, or I’ll draw all over my workbook.
And then math, my favorite -sarcasm- Â I sit in class and copy my one friend’s work all class. Â I constantly ask questions about what this is, what that is. Â But I recently have been asking more and noticing the laughter and I can hear the little whispers. Â “Who can’t do this?” Â “Did she really just ask that?” Â Today’s math homework was a bunch of mess that I ‘learned’ in class today. Â The whole time doing it I felt like crying.
I’m going to go back to last year and the year before (6th grade and 7th grade) for a second. Â I used to have a bad attitude. Â If you said anything about me or my friend (at the time) I would fight you in a war of words, usually fail epically, but I tried. Â I remember a group of girls saying that I should shut up and all that noise. Â Band class in now the only class i look forward to, I get to sit there and just play music. Â It’s great.
Gym! Â I hate getting changed. Â I’m very self-conscious about my legs.. I change in the same stall as my friend (Lets call her Emily) (please no comments on that, I’m not homosexual.) Â And then I have to actually participate to get a grade. Â I don’t mind the stretches. Â People hitting me and bumping into me like I’m not there is great and all, but I hate football. Â I can’t stand playing it. Â And the worst part is, even when I try the guys on my team yell at me for being horrible at it or not trying.
Science. Â I’m only mentioning this for one reason. Â The other day a group of guys were talking about me. Â I know because I heard them say my name as well as a group of other people. Â I have a very distinct name so I knew it was me.
I don’t really get bullied, I guess. Â I mean, I don’t know if I am or not, but I’m never really around to hear it if it happens.
Aside from that I bully myself a lot. Â I can see my weird looking legs, that gross chub I have in my stomach. Â The fact that I have a disorder that makes me sweat 4-5 times more than the average person. Â That one gets me the most. Â I can never hold hands, high-five. Â It gets to the point where I can’t even touch things that I know other people will, because they will complain and yell and be so grossed out by it. Â And thats not all. Â If you open up a dictionary and go to ‘ugly’ there would be a picture of my face. Â At first glance you would probably think I’m a guy without the eyeliner that actually makes me look somewhat feminine. Â Guys don’t like me solely because I am ugly. Â I read tons of things online about what a guy wants and I can hear guys talking. Â They never go for the girl that they actually seem to want. Â Opinion and humor wise, I’m a cool person.. I think. Â But most people wouldn’t even try to look past my ugliness.
I guess the point here is. Â And I’ve been thinking it for a while. Â What’s the point? On anything? Â Trying to look presentable, trying to look somewhat pretty, trying to make conversation and have friends, trying to be nice, talking at all? Â I just don’t see a point…
If you read this thank you, if you reply to this thank you.
It has come to my attention that my disease is never going away. It is incurable. I’ve recently talked to a woman that is now 83, who has been on pills for this since she was 18. I’m 16. Never again can i spend the night, spur of the moment. If i miss too many pills they tell me my body will go into shock. That’s nice. I’m worried about my future, can i even have a child? I’ve researched that it may be complicated, depending. I have a higher chance for getting cancer. I have a chance of going blind. All these nice little “maybes” that are most likely in my future.
I’m tired of crying myself to sleep every night. I hate feeling like some pill addict when i drop my pill bottle and have to pick them all up, the pills I have to take in order to live a somewhat comfortable life. Instead of 18 pills a day in down to 12. They still make me gag, there so big. I can’t consume alchol, my body cant take it. I won’t ever be able to have that 21st birthday that ive always dreamed about. I can’t drink at the partys i go too. I’m a teenager, i want to experience being “drunk”. Am i wrong?
I’ve attempted suicide, it failed. I seem to be coming out of this dark pit, the one that feels like its swallowing my chest. When my boyfriend found out, he got teary eyed. I felt like shit for having to make a boy cry. I need to stop, for my sake and his, for he’s the only one who truely knows my thought process. I’m just so done. God i hate it. SO MUCH. It’s never going away. I’m the only one I know who has it.
Crhons disease. Your probable thinking, “so what, at least its not cancer, how bad can it really be? your just a complainer.”. Thats what i think anyway. But in reality its a living hell, one where you fill up the toilet bowl with blood, and you stopped telling people so they wont put you on more meds. Where you have pain, so intense that getting a tattoo feels better (yes, ive gotten one recently on my hipbone), this is how i know I can tolerate pain. I especially like how i now dry heave every morning. Thats a newie. This is going to be my life until i either A) die of natural causes, B) die of an accident, or C) commit suicide. sigh. Peachy. No, I’m not gonna ask my dr. for trying new meds. I want to be off them. Completely. I thought that was a possibility until i was crushed by hearing that older woman’s story. Happy days are here.
Is it normalâ€¦ to look in the mirror and not see yourself in the reflection?
Having been so caught up in everyoneâ€™s â€œexpectationâ€ of you. To have completely lost yourself trying to be what everyone else wanted you to be?
Every night you dream of this life, you could NEVER have, but every day you long for it.
You have all these hopesâ€¦ dreamsâ€¦ ideasâ€¦ that you want to fulfill but just not enough time to do so.
Then you go to sleepâ€¦ still having yet to achieve anything extraordinary in your life, waking up in the morning realizing your one day closer to dying.
It kills you on the inside, but you donâ€™t know how to change it.
You envy the girl who can speak up and express how she feels and people actually support it. You envy the fact she can tell people how she feels while you have to cry alone in your room, and then plaster a fake smile on your face in the morning.
Ever since you were little youâ€™ve had to rely on pills to make you happy.
You hate to take them but without them the darkness starts to pull you down again.
Staying up night after night jumping at every noise you hear because youâ€™re PTSD wonâ€™t let you relax. You watch everything, everyone around you for the slightest sign. You plan ways to escape every room you enter. Â
Because thatâ€™s the only way you can get by in your day to day life.
The night terrifies you and you always run away from it. But you can never seem to outrun it. The one trigger you can never truly escape.
So every night you fight to get some rest only to be greeted by nightmares if you succeed.
You live in a world where you canâ€™t always tell whatâ€™s real.
Exhausted because you can never feel safe.
You wish you could truly express yourself to people. But you fear being judged, you canâ€™t stand to be alone again.
Youâ€™ve spent so many years trying to get people to like you.
You hate hiding thingsâ€¦ lying to people. It makes it harder to explain â€¦
Like why thereâ€™s scars on your arms.
Why you wear winter cloths in the summer.
You canâ€™t tell people how hard every day is. How a little comment they say can send you plummeting.
Whether they meant it or not, you canâ€™t handle REAL life.
People wonder why you seem â€œout of itâ€
Girls my age day dream about boys, yet here I am day dreaming about dying.
You have so many intricate ways youâ€™ve thought about killing yourself.
But you canâ€™t tell anyone because you canâ€™t stand being rejected. No matter what you canâ€™t ask for help. Â
Some nights youâ€™ll debate in your head if the past is real or something you made up like all the adults said. I was only five or so when it beganâ€¦ what if it really was â€œALL IN MY HEADâ€
It tears you apart so many people have called you a lair youâ€™ve even stopped believing yourself.
You donâ€™t know who you are anymore. What you want anymore.
You know what you used to want. But it all seems lost now, youâ€™re not even sure if you could achieve something so grand.
Youâ€™re always compared to how great everyone else is compared to youâ€¦ your self-esteem drops.
Then it seems you find something that makes you happy.
You start to rebuild your self-esteem and begin to make amends with your past.
Your friends say â€œYou look so happyâ€ Theyâ€™ve finally come back again.
You have motivation.
You want to shower.
Do your hair.
Put on makeup.
You care how you look again.
You pay attention to school.
But then just as suddenly as it came, your happiness is snatched away.
The darkness pools in.
The nightmares are back.
You put up your walls.
And once again.
You brace for an attack.
You despise your body.
Every flaw you have is thrown in your face.
And if you can see it doesnâ€™t that mean everyone else does to?
So you stop eating.
And you stop leaving the house unless you have to.
You spend every second of your day trying to mold yourself into something worthy of being seen.
Your friends all start to fade away like they always do.
All your friends disappear.
And once again the fears creep in.
The nightmares become worse.
You canâ€™t sleep at night.
You jump at anything.
Youâ€™re constantly in fear of your life.
You plan ways on how to die.
But to everyone else they donâ€™t understand what itâ€™s like to be constantly afraid.
So they talk behind your back â€œItâ€™s for attentionâ€
Not even your parents understand they tell you to â€œget over yourselfâ€
That other people â€œhave it worseâ€
But does it really matterâ€¦
Are you other people?
And this time everyone completely abandons you.
Deeper then youâ€™ve ever fallen.
An anchor tied to your foot.
Once youâ€™ve think youâ€™ve hit the bottom, that you canâ€™t go any lower than this.
Youâ€™ve fall deeper.
You just wish you could express yourself. That someone would truly listen and not judge you.
Someone who would never leave, no matter how bad it got..
But you feared so much that if you opened up that youâ€™d get hurt. You threw away the key.
All you wanted to do was put the pieces of the puzzle back together.
To finally understand your past.
To finally solve the puzzle, once and for last.
Cause your 15 years old and no one should be stuck in the past.