As I sat there awakening from my dream-like state of fog that seems to be ever surrounding, whether it be sleep or the lack thereof, I realized that my morning ritual was left undone. So, I loaded bullet into the cylinder and give it a spin. Pulling back the hammer, I thought about the round I was using. It couldn’t be your standard run of the mill .44 mag round, for it could pass right through leaving me a vegetable. Potato or squash? Neither, because I was using a frag round, as to insure the job got done right. You see, the frag round breaks up into little bits as it hits the skull, and spreads out inside the skull, therefore liquefying the brain more efficiently as well as reducing the chances ofÂ an exit; protecting others if they happen toÂ be nearby. Waiting patiently for the hammer to strike, the last image to strike my mind was of her. Then, click. Another loss, another day, so I picked up my near empty bottle from the night before, andÂ took a swig of temporary relief, regretting the very essence of my existence. My final action was to light a tattered cigar that resembles the shambles of my heart, and carry on. I will survive, but not by my own will.
commit suicide. and throw myself hard on the concrete floor tilll my cheeks get crushed in pain and all my teeth fall out and my ugly plain eyes pop out of their skull. i’m to throw myself against the concrete or off a bridge till my head cracks open and all the rottenness comes out, cut my nipples off and attack myself with a machete before the devil takes me
I’m not sure how to say this, I’ve never posted on something like this before. But I quit.
I’m turning 18 in almost 2 weeks, but I don’t think I’ll last that long. I’m depressed, I have been for a while, but instead of accepting that and finding a way to cope with it, my dad is ignoring it. I really noticed it after my mom passed away a year and a half ago. Granted, it’s normal to be sadder than usual during that time, I realize this. To try and cheer up, I tried looking back at the time before we learned she had cancer, back when life was supposed to be carefree, 7th grade for me. I wasn’t that girl wearing too much makeup, I wasn’t the shy little girl with books, I wasn’t the energetic bubbly everyone-loves-her kid. I was that girl who would walk along with her hand trailing on the school buses. I’m sure from a distance it would appear I’m playing with wind or something but honestly, I was wondering how much pain I would experience before my skull cracked enough for me to stop feeling things. Not long enough, I’d decided.
I’ve been trying to handle this problem for a while, and it’s gotten worse the past couple weeks. All my attempts to let someone know have backfired, my older siblings keep telling me to get a job, sleep more and fall in love, my younger brother just kind of gives me space and my dad doesn’t even let me finish speaking before telling me I need to sleep more and stop being a *****. I’m at the end of my rope, not literally. I don’t want to live anymore. I can’t kill myself though. Every time I consider it, I think about how hard my mom struggled to live without giving up and it hurts because I know she would be disappointed in me. She approved of everything I did, all my life choices, but she wouldn’t let me live like this. She’s not here anymore though, and my dad isn’t exactly covering for her.
I guess I’m posting this because I need to rant because there’s nothing anyone can do other than alert the mental health people near me. I don’t want to die, I’m not religious but I know suicide is wrong. Still, it’s starting to look like the only way to stop this feeling of not being worthy of life.
30 second run time
Imagine this contained in the skull, I’m 99% certain this will be an instant death.
I’m a freshmen in college-Best time of my life, right? Here’s what I have accomplished,Â failing classes, attempting suicide, countless anxiety attacks, depression and a stay at aÂ mental ward for a week.
Yeah,Â I tried to kill myself-I took…I don’t even remember how many handfuls of Tylenol. For awhile, the pills took away the pains I felt from either depression or the anxiety. I couldn’t feel anything. I banged my head against the wall-Nothing. I kept taking them, my heart was either beating too fast or too slow, I couldn’t tell which though. I got in the shower with my clothes on and just laid there. I was in and out, drifting and not knowing if I was going to die. I ended up calling people, subliminally saying goodbye and my best friend saw through my BS. He convinced me after about three hours to call my mom.
She never took me to the hospital.
See, my mom was an EMT so she’s the parent we all go to for medical stuff. But my mom is also a crazy bipolar sinister drug addict. We had a fight and I got her in trouble with my dad, she became resentful-just like the old days. Obviously, taking so much pain reliever would make me sick. Here’s what my mom did, she gave me a tranquilizer. I woke up-have asleep-half conscious throwing up and passing out. Now, I’m no doctor, but you would THINK that the one thing you would not do to a personÂ that has overdosed-is give them something to put them to sleep.
They sent me back to school the next day when I told them I was failing a class. I had a horrible headache. I went back home Friday for Easter-that whole weekend I was sick out of my mind.Â Skin yellowed, blood shot eyes, no sleep, constant headache and pressure in my skull, liver pain and swelling, hearing voices. I was sleepless for five days. And I went to my mom and my dad-telling them I was sick-that something was wrong and they saidÂ it was all in my head.
So, when I started feeling better back at school, I went to see a counselor.Â Guess what? I got stay in a hospital over night then in a mental clinic. I just wanted someone to help me. I’m 18 and I was the youngest person among addicts, alcoholics and the mentally ill. Can you-just for a moment imagine this…
-Never even being in a hospital alone before
-Admitted into a mental institution
-No phone calls
And here’s the best part, it’s not like I wasn’t allowed to have phone calls or visitors-it was that no one came. No one called. I have two parents, siblings, family-and they left me alone. Why? “Tough love”. Because they think I WANTED to be committed. They yelled at me so much that I told my grandparents-and my grandpop yelled at my mom for yelling at me.
It’s been a little over a week since then, I don’t go home. School ends in a few weeks and I know I’m failing. I was prescribed mood stabilizers that kind of help but it’s up and down.
I’m still alone.
stop all of the dreams,
and start all the nightmares,
Listen, to them scream.
but nothing is there,
your all I’ve got,
your my only hope.
but now even you
seem to be cutting the rope.
it’s a fucking mess
and there’s no escape.
my wrists are red.
someone save me.
drowning in this sea,
this sea of blood.
death stole innocence,
with the bang of a gun!
with every breath you take,
you want to stop it all.
the blade is your friend,
it helps you when you fall.
love is a joke,
your only love is rope,
it made you a necklace,
now it’s time to go.
just stop caring
stare death in it’s face,
just stop fighting,
you’re your family’s disgrace,
your friends don’t care,
and your lover’s gone,
face the music,
your life is wrong,
bang bang dear,
take the gun to your skull,
just one bullet,
one trigger to pull,
remember all the hate,
all the words they said.
IT’S ALL THEIR FAULT
THAT YOU ARE DEAD!!!
tear stained letters,
they’re all goodbyes,
you’ve had to hide.
your wrists are a maze
of scars and cuts,
your legs are a massacare,
goodbye to this hell,
you’ve had to call your home,
so power down your phone.
choose the weapon of your choice,
and continue to breathe,
until your body gives,
and you’re finally free.
While one day falls into another, I only hope that this is a dream.
I’m too old for these feelings. I’m in university, doing an incredibly difficult course which I spent my whole schooling trying to get into. I chose this. I am crippled by social anxiety, so I chose to live alone. I am simultaneously envious of people who can be themselves, surrounded by friends. I chose to be like this, every decision pushing me further inside my head. I am painfully crammed inside my own skull.
Surely I’ll wake up, a happy, normal, real version of myself. Surely I’ll be able to think beyond myself.
I have seen two psychiatrists and have been prescribed antidepressants. These experiences have just been like facts to me, they have made me leap to conclusions – I have seen a psychiatrist, I am better now. I am taking medicine, I am better now. Yet, I am still unable to sleep. I wake up every morning, like a false awakening, a dream within a dream. Yet, I still can’t form the right sentences. I still can’t have the strength to accept my choices.
My dad found out about my antidepressants and that I want to change degrees. He calls me weak. He yells, disgusted. How could I be so weak? Why do I always take the easy way? Why did I even need medication? He tells me to harder up. He tells me I am a fuck up. He tells me I am weak. He tells me to harden up. Why don’t I just harden up? Weak. Weak. Weak. He tells me no. No, I should stop taking the pills, they make me even more boring. No, I cannot change degrees. I made those decisions, so therefore no. No. No.
This a dream, this is my own body. This is my own body? These are my own decisions?
I cut myself when I am 14. I have horrible dreams about scratching my skin until it breaks and I bleed. I drink and cry when I am 16. I shut off when I am 17. I don’t talk to anyone anymore when I am 18. I move when I am 19, and break down. I constantly think about how to end this spiralling dream. Jump off a cliff. Jump in front of a train. Jump off of my apartment building. Have the strength to push the blade down hard enough.
I have tried many times, but am never brave enough. Would if it doesn’t work? I’d be left to go to an institution. My whole family would know, they wouldn’t know what to say or what to do.
I have spent my whole life trying so hard for something. I don’t know what it is and am losing faith again. There isn’t anything left for me. I can’t contribute or give to anything. I am an enemy to myself, I can’t change myself.
The only thing that will have any effect on this never ending cycle is death. Death is the answer to waking up from this dream, this nightmare. As death won’t come to me, I’ll have to come to it.
i am the nothing man. i carry doom and gloom as my closest companions. i have no talent, no goals, no desires, no hope and i can’t wait to die. the one thing i do have is family and friends, and honestly, that is the reason why i’m still breathing on this god forsaken earth.
at random times throughout the day i visualize a bullet penetrating my skull and blowing my brains out. it feels more peaceful than anything else that i can imagine. to end the suffering which is my mind would be liberating.
i tried for many years to blame the injustices of the world for my condition. i attempted to hate the hypocrisy of the world for the hypocrite that i am. i guess i am finally realizing that i am everything that i despise. there is nothing that can be done now, it’s far to late to change who i am. i am just a piece of shit waiting for death to call me back
So i found the hand gun i knew the old man had. im not into guns cause i have morals against them so i dont work them well but i know it well enough to shoot. so i cocked the gun and couldnt figure out how to fix it without shooting it so i had to take it outside and shoot it. powerful little thing. crush my skull good! so ive been really thinking about using it to end my life soon. but i guess im scared to do it. i dont know why. i cant find anything worth staying alive for. being dead sounds like the perfect game plan but im just to big a sissy to end my suffering. guess right now im just ranting :/
I sent a bullet through my skull 15 years ago on November 10th, 1997.Â I never did it again, came close a couple of times but I’ve tried hard never to let things get that bad again.Â Of course, so many things are out of our control and there’s always the day to day BS that canÂ lead toÂ death by a thousand cuts.Â Even as a small child I remember suicide being an option.Â If things went bad at school or with friends I remember thinking “I could always kill myself” and it made me feel better.Â I didn’t act on it until much later but it was like an ace in the hole that no one knew aboutÂ that allowed me to feel better.Â Now that I have a beautiful wife and son and I don’t want to abandon them things are so much more difficult.Â I don’t have that “ace in the hole” any longer.Â I don’t know what to do when the gloom grabs a hold and pushes me toward the end.
Has anyone survived an attempt, and still battles with the darkness but know you can’t submit?
What do you do?
What are some tools for survival?
Tomorrow marks 15 years of life but I feel so angry and lost for no apparent reason, I don’t know what to do.
I’m not sure how this works but I feel like venting. I’m 25 years old. People say I’m pretty but most of the time I can’t stand who I see in the mirror. I’ve beenÂ reading posts on this website over the last few days and I was surprised to see my thoughts and feelings expressed so accurately by random people all over. You know when people say oh everyone’s felt like Â that, like that’s suppose to help but this actually is kind of comforting. Anyway back to venting. I had a car accident this mornin and physically I’m fine but in every other way I’m screwed. For all the reasons I’ve wanted to die this seems so trivial but it feels like the last straw. As I sit here in the carpark at the beach, trying to skull back this bottle of whiskey, everything seems so ridiculously trivial but so effin frustrating. I kinda wanna talk to someone but I feel so shit I don’t want to see anyone. So if anyone’s on here feel free to say hi, I could do with a response. Cheers.
I`m male, 29. I suffer from Schizophrenia(the doctors say). In general, I fear that people around me is not there voluntarily, like they`re sort of reading of a note, and doing what their told(by force one might say). Which is a big problem when it comes to women. Some things between man and woman are pretty bad when they happen by force(you know what I`m aiming at).
I hear a lot of voices which tense me to the point of wanting to crush my skull against the wall(I sort of get a release by visualizing it, wich is pretty violent imagery, and sort of weird, lol). Long story short, I`ve contemplating suicide for too many years, already.
I occationally meet this woman through mutual friends, and I have sort of developed feelings for her. I can`t really act upon them, as to the whole voluntarily thing. Though I`ve started thinkingÂ and dreaming of her. She`s confided in me a few times for some reason. I seem to have such an effect on people at times(dunno why). And I sort of feel priviledged that she`d trust me with things.
I`ve sort of hoped that I could emotionally connect with her, though it doesn`t seem to happen. I suppose to feel sort of real for one person at least, and I really do miss beeing in a relationship. I remember how it felt with my previous girlfriend, before I sort of freaked out(I though she was with me by force). Just how she trusted in me with her struggles and sorrows, and how I could allow myself to trust her with some of mine. I think I feel safe when women sort of lean upon me for support, and I like how it feels to care about someone. To make my days easier I`ve been daydreaming of this woman, sort of drift off in my own little world, so I don`t feel all that alone.
I`ve hoped that she would sort of fall in love in me, and sort of make an approach on an afterparty or something like that. Sure I`d have to gently push her back, but I`d have the chance to be completely honest with her. And maybe, just maybe, I could fall asleep with my arm around her waist. Sort of hoping that if she were to be there “by command” she maybeÂ liked it anyway. Like me for who I am. Like me because I love her. That she would feel safe. And that I could feel what I`ve always felt when I fall asleep with my arm around a loved ones waist – that nothing is missing. That I am complete, and for a few precious moments everything is ok.
The last time we met we were at a bootleg bar, and out of beer tokens. At one point, she was making out with this guy at the bar, and I sort of fell to pieces(kind of irrational, really). I was chatting with an old childhood friend, and I sort of couldn`t communicate properly. I was too damn heartbroken. I felt that I had to go home(have a long walk), and brotherly hugged my friends goodbye, and went over to say goodbye to her. She told me: “Noooo! Don`t leave me here.Â There is to many male strangers here. Don`t go.” that guy from the bar sat beside her and caressed her back, and I said “what? you seem to have met a guy you like?” Apparently she wasn`t quite into him afterall and she persuaded me to wait for her(I wish I just went home, but I have this weak spot for her).
We left after half an hour, this guy, her and me. She told him right before we went outside that he was in no way coming home with her, and he seemed to continue to try to persuade her. I got impatient and shoved her away, pretending to be a jealous lover or something(she seemed to be in on the notes), and I told her outside “Seems like I did you a favour there? :)” At that point that guy came out and she felt bad for him. I told her to go talk to him while I waited for her at the taxi stop(we was supposed to share a taxi home). she came back and told me: “Heart, I have to stay behind and talk to him. Take a cab, I`ll call you later.” She pulled my face towards her with both her hands and kissed me on the mouth. I didn`t kiss her back, and she had this sad, emphatic look in her eyes. And I had this feeling that only can be described as ugly. The whole thing felt ugly.
The dream of comfort is sort of broken. And I don`t know if I`ve ruined it with her as a friend, aswell. I`ve seem to have lost my way once again(not like I ever was on it). I think it would break her if I killed myself over this, so I suppose I still love her. Weird, though. And somewhat pathetic.
Who do I tell? Everyone has their own fallouts, their own personal tragedies to battle with. Even the ones that don’t have cracks in their windshields have no mileage on their speedometer; they haven’t the time to slow down and pick up a hitchhiker. It’s understandable. I can’t truly decide whether I could stand to let myself be carried along anyway, becoming the problem in someone else’s existence. The bump in the road that needs to be filled in, poured up with concrete until it is as smooth and solid as they go. It never seems like it is out of choice, and when it is, it’s always horrific.
Nonetheless, this haze just will not lift. So indescribable and yet undeniably familiar. The absence of feeling, of sensation — and yet the presence of something unbearable that just evades my definition. They’ve called it a lot of things, but who knows. Who honestly knows.
So I run my finger down my friend’s list again. A slow scroll upwards, followed by another back down. I know the names. Most of them are lies, crafted carefully to present the face we wish we were. I’m no different. Usernames give us wish fulfillment and blank slates to colour in with any shades we choose.
And I can’t choose. I can’t choose a name to burden with this whirring of cogs, this screaming of silence and sluggish panic that nips at my skull like a parasite. I can’t explain how my time is passed in shards, vaguely pursuing hobbies that no longer bring me the slightest bit of pleasure. I can’t explain how only in the short moments after waking do I feel a slight reprieve, often rolling around on my mattress trying to sleep in order to experience this break in reality’s tapestry. I can’t explain how the sporadic chunks of food I’ve eaten from time to time are dull, tasteless and essentially less preferable to the hungry yawning pit of an empty stomach. I can’t explain how even forgetting to mention my name amongst others, how casually mentioning a conversation that I was not involved in… It hurts.
Seeing you all happy is both wonderful and terrible. It warms me slightly, to know you’re all laughing on that side of the screen with big happy smiles and a clear mind. Underneath that, an icy knife slices away at my mind knowing I can’t share that with you. Please, I’m so happy for you. So happy and so terribly sad –Â but not for you. Not yet.
I flip through the pages of 1001 Arabian Nights, a book lying around with no particularÂ reason to do so. I dimly wonder whether finding a short verse that would adequately resonate with me would help. A number of beautiful lines catch my eye, but none of them seem to fit. I find myself reciting the stolen poetry to my friends, which goes quite unnoticed. Why I feel the need to pass it on is a mystery.
I settle on this extract:
Being too weak even a shirt to wear.
I marvel not that my soul wastes away
But that my body can your absence bear.
Still, it’s not right. The poem isn’t addressed to anybody; no-one left me with the weight of love. If anything, I wonder whether the words can be addressed to everyone, whom I ache to love and yet find that I can’t do so without causing storms. Even this does not seem to make much sense to my situation, but my will to searchÂ for a more suitable poemÂ has gone. I put the book down and turn back to my computer.
It’s hard when the only friends you have are people you have never made eye contact with, or shared a whisper with, or caught a bus with, or just given a hug to.Â They’re all I have. I decide again that as desperate as I am, I can’t tarnish that with my rust like I have so many times before.
I click on the Samaritans website instead. A futile gesture, but I have to do something other than lie in peace upon my bed for my own safety. I know I can’t call them. The idea of sending an email glances across my mind but barely leaves a mark; I distantly consider the possibility of creating a new email address just so the organization couldn’t possibly know me if they wanted to when the thoughts shut down again out of apathy.
Another pointlessÂ look over my friends, conveniently arranged in alphabetical order, before winding up on this website. My last post terrified me enough to delay a return trip until now. Surely, I thought, someone had read my confession and seen the despicable nature of it. They would tell me so. The words would be chosen to wound, and wound they would, albeit slowly and with a great deal of overdramatic languishing on my part. I couldn’t bear to see that response I was so afraid to hear, but which I knew myself to be deserving of.
It wasn’t present. Three comments, and not one of them damning. Just looking at them, barely even reading theÂ sentences but scanning them as a whole with occasional words leaping into the front of my mind and sticking like honey, relieved some kind of pressure. A piston jarred into life and steam billowed from the back of my head. My muscles loosened. Time became a regular rhythm again. I realized how cold my hands were.
Thank you for your replies. The night is not over, and there are likely hundreds and hundreds to go.
Well I have tried killing myself. I’ve slit my wrists, arms, legs, stomach, fingertips. I don’t want an identity. I have burned off my fingerprints but they grew back, no matter how many times I burned them off.
I don’t consider myself human.
I’m an alien.
I’m a redhead that lives in a small town full ofÂ Mexicans. I don’t hate them, I love my friends. But I’m an alien. I’m from mars and other people like me (gingers) are the reason why mars is red. I had to learn to make fun of myself at a very young age in order to live in this hellhole-of-a-town.
I’ve held a gun up to my head. But anyone can do that, it’s easy.
But I’ve done something you never have. I pulled the trigger.
I know you’re thinking “Wtf, how is she alive.” But I’m not, I’m dead inside. I am physically alive though. The bullet jammed in the barrel of the gun right after I pulled the trigger. Strange right? How often does that happen. And it scared me, it took at least an hour for me to realize I’m not dead and what even happened. Right after the ringing in my ears stopped I cried, I curled up in a ball on my bed a cried myself to sleep. After waking up I grabbed the gun a put it back in the drawer where my mom kept it. I had to make sure she didn’t know what happened. I had a cut on the right side of my skull, at my temple, right where I held the gun.
The next few weeks all I could think about was why didn’t I die and if my life was worth ending. Well I knew my mother didn’t love me a couldn’t care less about me. Well she could because she’ll be missing another tax deduction. But you get my point.
My dad. My dad hated seeing me in pain. And I hated seeing the pain in his eyes. He didn’t want to accept the fact that his only daughter, his only child, cuts herself. He’s seen the razor blades before, he’s seen the scars, but he’s never touched my wrist, especially not after I cut myself. But one day I had been talking to my step mom about break ups, then my father, who was standing next to me, saw my hand and saw the heart I carved in it. He touched the newly carved cuts, he asked me why I did that and I answered “Because I felt like it.” and I had, but the pain I could see in his eyes made me want to die. my father never had a good life. Abuse, drugÂ addictÂ mother, homeless for half his life. All I ever wanted was to make it rich and give my dad the life he wanted.
My step mom always told me to write and paint. I love it. I couldn’t imagine my life without art, music, and writing. I’m currently working on a novel, 162 pages so far. It’s a horror story. And in it I get to kill all the people I’m not allowed to in real life. “There are only two types of killers:Â PsychopathsÂ and mystery writers.” I am both kinds of people. I’ve always wanted to be one. And if anything ever happens to anyone I’m close to I swear I will become a serial killer and I’ll start by killing whoever hurt them. But I’ll have to be secretive. That should beÂ easyÂ since I’ve lived my entire life (17 years) invisible. So if you ever see some infamous serial killer that kills bad people that would be me.
I didn’t like my step dad and I don’t think he liked me. It doesn’t matter anyways since he left my family for a motorcycle gang, Devils Diciples. For almost a year he had caused so much anger and frustration in my household!! I hated him for it. I wanted to punch him and continue until he was dead. How dare he do that to my mother!! What did he do? He choked her ‘attacking him’ when she was just trying to talk to him. I grew tired of waking up at 3 am to glass bottles being broken and thrown at each other. I didn’t care about the fighting, I worried for my younger brother (11 yrs old). I was used to the fighting, they were always like this. But the thing I hated was that they fought in front of us. I’ve almost called the cops on themÂ multipleÂ times, thinking back, I should have called.
My brother doesn’t understand everything he see’s. But I know he has more pain than people would like to realize. I know the divorce of his parents is going to kill him. Though sometimes I want to strangle him because he’s being so stupid I couldn’t imagine my life without him. It would be boring and lonely since my mother doesn’t like to come home.
My step brother. I hate that bastard. I hope he dies slowly. Seems like getting hit by a car twice and getting in a car accident isn’t enough. For some reason he just won’t die. He would torment me when we were kids. he would hit me for no reason, but that’s when I got strong. I’ve always been the strongest of all the girls I’ve known. And I love that, I’ve always been stronger and I love putting a guy in his place by beating him at any physical challenge. But ever since that day, that horrible day in June, I wanted to kill him. I would wake up in the middle of the night with my step brother trying to quietly pull my blanket off of me without waking me up. That’s when I learned to be a light sleeper. One night heÂ succeeded. I hate myself for that night. After that I began sleeping in my parents room. But I never told them, I tried but they didn’t believe me. And whenever they left us alone I just stayed outside with my dogs, no matter how cold it was. I figured if someone drove by they would see and stop him so I just stayed outside until I saw the headlights of my parents car roll up.
I began cutting myself again. I knew my parents would get mad at me for having my razor blades again so I carried paper, I mean could they really get you in trouble for having paper cuts. But that soon ended because there’s nothing gratifying in that except Â pain in your legs as you try to walk. I began drinking again and I finally tried weed, I liked it. I wish I could smoke it whenever I wanted and just listen to music, I just want to escape.
My girlfriend. Well ex girlfriend I should say. I cared for her, and I still do. Â We did everything together. We had to fight for our love, her mother loved me until she realized we were more than just friends. She thought I was some evil thing that was brainwashing her daughter. My mother hated her because she thought she was brainwashing me. Really? What’s with the theme of brainwashing?! I never understood what was so bad. Just because we are two girls?Â We fought periodically but every couple does. We lasted for one year and three months. After she broke up with me everyone started telling me how much they hated her. I’ve defended her so many times. That’s why I stuck around so long, to protect her. Everything I did was to keep her happy. But she doesn’t need me, and I don’t need her. I wanted to kill myself after being so stupid and wasting so much time.
I don’t know. I guess there’s my story, it isn’t close to being finished but yea. I know it’s wordy but I’m a writer, can you tell?
my mom wont stop now i cant walk she broke my left leg it hurts and she wont take me to a doctor or hospital. also i haven’t slept in a week because im 2 scared because mom beats me wen im asleep.at least she aunt my real mom.my real mom and dad died when i was 1 i was in a orphanage till i was 6 then toni adopted me. i wish she didnt. and thanks to all who posted commets exepcialy you leahwallis thanks.also the orphanage was abusof it even killed my sister hope wen she was 9 i was separed from my family wen i was 2 cause i was adoped then beat then almost killed. i stopped breathing cause jenni beat me then cracked my skull on the cement stairs. she dropped me of at the orphanage and said i was a worthless piece of s***. i was beat there at the orphanage and before and after with both adopted family only my real family didn’t beat me.
I don’t really hear about trains much when searching for suitable methods. I have certainly come across suicides relating to an individual jumping on the subway tracks, but this is not really what I’m talking about. It seems messy and uncertain, particularly due to the fact that if your jump in front of a train pulling into the station it is comming to a stop, not to mention the fact that subway trains [in my city at least] don’t seem to go that fast to begin with [not compared to actual trains anyways].
So if one was looking to be taken out by a train what would be the best method? I was thinking to wait out by the tracks at night [so as not to be seen by the conductor when I make my move, or at least limit his ability to see me] until I see a high speed passenger train coming, then simply lay my head on the the track. I don’t know if it would be better to jump in front though. I mean, when it comes to your head vs. a high speed train I would think the train would win but still, I don’t want half my skull torn off and left a vegetable. It seems quick, and painless [relative to a gunshot anyways].
Any opinions, or reports? Is this a suitable method?
Â I have a house and a family, enough money to live on, a nice school, quite a few friends. Why then am I still not happy? Am I selfish? Or greedy? Or arragont enough to think I am better than other people?
I do not think I am selfish, I may be wrong, or greedy or arragont. I do not think I am better than any one else. On the whole I think I am much worse. I do not deserve the many good things I have, a family and such amazing friends as the ones I have.
Since I was agedÂ 8 and lost my Gran to lung cancer, my eyes have been opened to the suffering people endure everyday. I loved her very much. When I was walking to school I would look for her hiding behind the postbox, or in the car. At that age I didn’t understand she would never again be at my birthday party. From then on my family has had a lot of trials, my best friend died in a road accident, my Godfather died, my Auntie had a full hystorectomy due to an ovarian sist, my other Aunt (her sister) had a burst appendix that turned gangrenous and so almost died, then last July my cousin died in a rock climbing accident. He fell 15 metres onto uneven rock, he fell on his back but bounced onto his unprotected head, his skull was crushed into his brain and died 2 weeks later. Those weeks were the worse of my whole life.
Though other people have been through worse than me, to me this is Hell. Watching the people I love being taken from me. Them but never me, me who is not a good person, who does not cherish life. The only explanation I can give is that I am a bad person, they have been taken for me as punishment. When I tried to explain this to my friends they didn’t understand me. How can a 14 year old girl, who has never killed or stolen can be a worse person than someone who has.
I have made countless journeys to hospitals, for patching up my cuts, burns and other injuries, and clinics to help me stop hurting myself. The clinics haven’t helped me so now I am trying different things, this project being the first!