Entries tagged with "suicide"
I’m 13 years old. I’m a boy. I live in a small town in Washington… my life has been hell… over and over again I have been talked down to, by friends, by my abusive father, by a mother that doesn’t care, I may be only 13, but even though my heart is broken, I still care for people that might not care about me… usually people write on here about how bad their life is, or how bad their day is, even if it’s weird, I still care, whoever you are and where ever you are, no matter what happens, there is ALWAYS someone out there who has to care… always, I have tried to kill myself five times and I don’t know why I stopped any of the times, maybe it was the feeling of wanting more, or maybe wanting to try again I’m not sure, so if you are having a bad day, just know that even though you may not even know me, what I look like or even my fucking name… I still care!
For the people who have been hurt, I hope I helped.
Have a nice day.
I began losing my hair at 19. At first I thought it was just a phase. I thought it would grow back. I went to see my doctor who told me it would never grow back. I became suicidal. When I first realized it was happening, I became obsessed with hair. Suddenly, everywhere I went people were talking about hair… how they were going to bleach it, streak it, perm it, dye it. When I thought of the future I didn’t think by then I’d be doing this or by then I’d be doing that, I just thought by then… I’d be bald.
I’m now 29 and bald, and a shadow of my former confident self. A lot of people suit it but I don’t think I do. I come across as confident and bubbly with people at work, but away from work I never socialize… I don’t like to go out.
I’m in a “relationship” with a great guy I met online. I love him, but I’m using somebody else’s picture. I know it will all end in tears, but I have so little going on in my life—I’m finding it more difficult to come clean.
As I started packing tonight I came across my old journal that I started in 2003 when I was 12. as I started flipping through it I began to cry uncontrollably. Sometimes I forget miserable I was. and how close I came to ending my own life. All of a sudden the pain and depression came rushing back to me making it hard to breath. I remember this feeling.
I can’t help feeling angry. WHY DID NO ONE REALIZE I NEEDED HELP?! I wish I could talk to my younger self and tell her everything was going to be alright. That things would work out. That mom would stop drinking. That dad really did care and not to blame myself for all the fights, arguments, and tears.
But I can’t. Whatever. Fuck it. Things are better now. And I feel untouchable. Almost.
I am a 20 year old college student that has the whole world ahead of her.
The only problem is that I can’t stop thinking about what is wrong with my life. All of my Great-Grandmothers died with Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s disease and I am watching my Grandfather go through the same thing. I am so afraid that I will come home one weekend and he won’t remember me. I want more than anything to not be living my life and be able to leave this world, but the only thing that is keeping me here is my family. I know what it would put them through and I could NEVER do that to them.
I just wish that I had something to live for other than my family. I know that if I ever have children or get married then I would put them through my chronic illnesses and that is the last thing I want. I don’t deserve anything that I have or any of the love that I am receiving from my family or any of the friends that I have. I am trying to put on a show for everyone to make them think that I am fine.
I am a 20 year old college student that has the whole world ahead of her.
The only problem is that I can’t stop thinking about what is wrong with my life. All of my Great-Grandmothers died with Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s disease and I am watching my Grandfather go through the same thing. I am so afraid that I will come home one weekend and he won’t remember me. I want more than anything to not be living my life and be able to leave this world, but the only thing that is keeping me here is my family. I know what it would put them through and I could NEVER do that to them.
I just wish that I had something to live for other than my family. I know that if I ever have children or get married then I would put them through my chronic illnesses and that is the last thing I want. I don’t deserve anything that I have or any of the love that I am receiving from my family or any of the friends that I have. I am trying to put on a show for everyone to make them think that I am fine.
My boyfriend would rather jump off a cliff than spend time with me.
I have a prosthetic will. Every night I swallow a few pills, white and nondescript. They’re what keep me alive; the pills help control my suicidal urges. Some nights, as I fall asleep, I’ll hear whispering, disembodied malevolences telling me all the ways I deserve to suffer. You’ve probably seen me, though I’m like the pills I swallow: white and nondescript. I’m the person you see who’s somewhat reserved but calm and happy to talk. I’m the one who often looks deep in thought and maybe seems to be completely content. I promise you, that couldn’t be further from the truth. You know what I’ve noticed though? The days I hear a broken, suicidal record player in my head and the days I’m optimistic are indistinguishable to you. Your days are indistinguishable to me too. If you know me, I beg you, speak to me. I represent more than just the author of this. I need more than fragile prosthetics to keep going.
Today, I felt like I had woken from an uncomfortably awkward coma. When you’re eighteen and the hospital and mental health staff know you upon arrival and you know each other on a first name basis. That’s when you know you’ve screwed up.
Less than an hour ago I decided I would never put myself in that position again. Last time I remember in perfect detail on the bathroom wall I kept numbers of how many pills I had swallowed, just to keep me conscious so I could swallow more. I got to 128 before I could no longer move my own body. Never again will I be that person, because I don’t want my friends to hate me like I hated my best friend when she killed herself.
Good morning, fresh start. It’s nice to meet you.
I nearly died today. Depression about killed me. I’m a therapist and have struggled with serious depression for 18 years. Since I was 16 years old. It has about killed me four times and came close today. It tempts you like a demon to walk with it through the valley of death. It makes you believe that you are out of the sight of love, of God. It tries to deny you the most fundamental gift that humans have—hope. If you are struggling with this too, remember, depression is a trickster. All of the beauty of the world is still out there—it is just veiled to you now. Hope is not out there, the demon depression cannot take it away, it is in you—always. And though I may not know you, I love you. Keep walking keep fighting there is light and life at the end of this walk and it is good. Race you. 1,2,3 go. Seee you on the other side, alive.
When I was 8, my estranged father died. My mother told me he had been “sick.”
When I was 14, I googled his name and came up with the headline “Deputies identify body found in remote area.” He had hanged himself.
I am nearly 18 years old and my mom still doesn’t know that I know. I like to tell myself it’s because I’m strong, I don’t need to talk about it, but deep down I know the truth:
Without this secret, I have no one to blame my problems on… but myself.
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