Life . . . What is it?

Your born kicking and screaming into a world that might not always accept you.

Icolation confinds me to my own persoanal buble.

What is the purpose of life?

Does anyone truly know?

What are you supposed to do with the time given to you?

What if the time isnt enough?

Its a constant ticking at the back of my mind.

You could die today… One second walking down the street, next? Hit by a car, lying bloody on the side walk. People running and crying, friends you never had saying, “She was so young…”

____________________________

Those are my constant thoughts.

I dont know if anyone else shares them, and that scares me.

I’m I truely and uttery alone in this world of millions?

I’m not going to say I was born depressed.

I was born a happy baby, surrounded by a large loving family that greeted me with everything I ever wanted and asked for.

But in this past year, I started High school, and it shocked me.

So many people… could they think that I think?

I have atempted suicide before, a very lame attept of putting a close peg on my nose and tapeing my mouth and hands. I panicked and ripped knocked the close peg off.

The only things stopping me from suicide, is the constant fear of the un-known. What is after death?

I am not religious, but I belive there is a supreme being, I think…

What if you die and nothing happens, how can one cease to exist?

The last thing keeping me alive is my mother.

She is diabetic type 1, and wasnt supposed to get pregnant. But she wanted a daughter, and as stubborn as she is, refused to get an abortion, and gave birth to me 2 months before my due date with a C-section.

So to the family I was a miracle. A child who wasnt supposed to exist.

They spoiled me.

But now as I looked back, only 14 years of age, I wonder if i shouldnt have lived through that birth, for why would anyone create someone whos has such horrible thoughts of suicide.

I am a shell. I donate money to hospitals, I do famins, I even wish to become a peacekeeper.

People think of me as careing.

Yes I would feel bad if something bad happend to someone, but I’m selfish, I only want to make-up for what I’ve done. Which I can’t even atmit to myself.

I killed my mother.

When I was 12 she died due to kidney problems, linked to the preasure they went under while she was pregnant.

I want to be with her.

does someone have to be before the world would be better off with out them?

I have five friends. I love them; I would do anything I could to make them happy. I feel this isn’t enough, however. My flawed personality and value isn’t worthy of these people - and they’re aware of it. They have to be. That’s how I feel, anyways.
After all, these are all great people. My friends are kind, funny, smart…

I am insecure, with my friends - I believe that because I am so flawed, I will eventually screw everything up, they will leave and never talk to me again. When they aren’t talking to me, I become frightened that this already occurred, and I simply wasn’t aware when or how.
I am also paranoid with my friends - I do not trust them. I believe that when they are actually talking to me, it’s out of pity, or boredom because one of their ‘real’ friends isn’t there perhaps. They tolerate me, but they don’t actually care. At the same time, I become so extremely happy to be with them at that time, that I’d prefer false tolerance and sympathy to nothing else, and for that short amount of time I feel being used is okay.
I have told my friends bits of this, that I easily feel abandoned or that I will be abandoned at some point. They assure me that this is not the case, and it comforts me for a short while…but then I realize they could be lying, and figure they probably are.

And I could ramble about my thinking process on this further, but in the end it just turns into one thing anyways.
It leads to depression, every day, through out the day. The moment I am not talking with one of these friends - especially if I realize they could be speaking with me, but are choosing not to for any reason - I figure I’ve done something wrong. And the more time I’m given to think about this, the less I want to be here. It seems like I’d be doing people a favor if I was simply gone. It would also save me the anxiety that comes multiple times every day.

When it leads down to suicide however, I’m a coward I guess. I don’t want pain, and I don’t want a mess. I just want to disappear.
A part of me hates sleeping, I avoid it as much as possible, because it feels to me like temporarily being dead - no thought, just silence and emptiness until you wake up. But when it comes to the idea dying, I love sleep. It is my current substitution for suicide, but I don’t know if it’s working as well anymore. I think about actually killing myself more often now, trying to think how I would do it, and whether or not I would leave a note to give some sort of explanation - I could try and tell people it was my choice, and not their fault, but then again, who am I to say they would feel responsible at all? After all, it’s selfish to think other people would actually worry about me.
I really hate how unworthy I am for these people.
I wish my friends would just admit they hate me, break contact, so I wouldn’t worry about it anymore. I’d simply know. And I think that would give a good enough reason to leave this place.

I’m not planning anything right now, just longing for rest and peace from this weary old life. I’m worn out–mentally, physically, emotionally. My brain and endocrine system are broken down, and it’s hard as hell to get any help. And it’s lonely because so few people know what it’s like to be so deeply exhausted and weary.

On my best days, I can put on a smile and can almost care about what’s going on around me. On those days, when I get out around people, I look and act pretty normal. That makes it all the harder for people to understand how little life I have left in me.

I just wish to god there was a way to find rest and peace without having to hurt others. Suicide is so painful to those who are left behind. That is the only reason I’m still here.

Ok, so I was adopted at the age of 5. My foster family before I was adopted was amazing, they cared about my twin and I so much and they were fair with us, they treated us like their own and I adored them.. So when it came to leaving, it was very upsetting, but I soon settled down and we saw them every month or so. What I didn’t know, because I was so naive at the age of 5, was that my adoptive parents had dropped our social worker, so that they could have total control of us, so that they could change us to be like them..

At the age of 10, I began to hate my life with them.. The reason? My adoptive brother was sexually abusing me.. I didn’t know it was wrong, and I was scared not to do what hesaid, so I did it. Luckily though, he didn’t take my innocence, although he asked me for sex and I knew that I was too young and was innocent and worried that it’d make me pregnant. So he fobbed me off after that and hated me ever since, I hated him, too, when I learned what he’d done was wrong.. I didn’t tell anyone until I was 16 because him and my twin and threatened to kill me if I said anything at all..

Then, at the age of 11, my foster Father died.. He was the most amazing person I’ve ever met. He died from cancer and when I found out he was dead, a part of me died and I’ll never forget that day, when I broke down, screaming, crying, all the while feeling a part of me inside, disappear..
At that point, that was another person that my adoptive parents (Shana =Adoptive Mother Patrick = Adoptive Father) had off their hands, another person who couldn’t save us from them.

Ever since the age of 13, they threatened to kick me out when I’m 16. Their reason (which they didn’t tell me, I figured it out)? They didn’t want me there because they’re narcissists and they didn’t like the way that I was so truthful abotu them, I’d tell people what they were really like. We’d argue, they’d try and pick fights with me, and blame me for anything and everything that happened, even if I wasn’t involved.. I’d tell people what was bothering me if they asked.. Shana and Patrick didn’t like that, didn’t like people to know they were treating me badly.. To make up for all the things they blamed me for, I’d do all the jobs around the house, I’d talk nicely, wouldn’t answer back, even if something was completely out of order.. It did nothing, they just took advantage of it and treated me like a slave.. They treated me like the black sheep of the family. A 14, I started self harming. They picked up on it and laughed at me, and whenever I cried, they’d tell me “go and slash your wrists you pathetic, stupid attention seeking b*tch!” and I would, purely because all my efforts of things being ok with them were a waste of time and effort. That was when I had my first suicide attempt. I was in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror, crying, thinking “why the hell are you crying?! It gets you nowhere, but being made fun of!” and that’s when my first attempt happened. In front of that very mirror.

That was the one thing they didn’t know I did. Then I got together with my ex. He was all up for loing his virginity, I wasn’t.. But he was so impatient, he couldn’t accept that and attempted to rape me, but I was strong enough to push him off - just. I didn’t dump him, because I was scared of what he’d do to me. Then I met my current boyfriend of 2 years. I fell in love with him after asking him to help me with my confidence when I sing. I dumped my ex and the same night, got together with him. I told him about my ex and he was fuming, but didn’t do anything about it, due to me begging him to leave it.

He was upset by my self harm and he made me realise that what my adoptive family and my twin was doing to me was really, really wrong. So, I started to be my own person, I wasn’t going to be a liar and a cheat just because that’s what would stop them from hurting me.. I had Connor there and he helped me when I needed it.. They tried to split us up so many times, told me he didn’t love me, that I’ve got no friends, that I’ve lost them and I’m going to lose him.. It just made us all the more stronger..

So, Shana found out about my ex, and said in front of me and the teacher who told her for me, that she didn’t blame me like I thought she would, she was pulling back my hair and my hands from my face so that she could see that she’d upset me, that she’d made me cry.. She loved to see me cry because she knew she’d hurt me.. Then, as soon as she got home, despite promising not to tell anyone, she told the whole family and said it was bulls**t, so I was deeply hurt and didn’t tell them anything after that.. Not that I did before anyway.

After that, I continued being brought down by them, and continued with the self harm and suicide attempts.. Eventually, after writing numerous songs and journal entries, I noticed that some of my lyrics had gone missing along with some journal entries.. I found them in Shana’s drawer and confronted her.. and she said tat she didn’t put them there, i did so i told her not to lie to me, so she contradicted herself and said she took them to prove how crazy/mad/psychotic I am.. So I said she was a liar and wnhy would I beso stupid to plant my presonal stuff, that I didn’t want them to see, in her drawer!? So, she grabbed me by the scruff of my t-shirt and slammed me into the solid pine/glass door 6 times.. I managed to push her away, but then she pushed me into the corner of a unit and a chunk got taken out of my hip. I ran upstairs and grabbed my phone, because Connor was due to be phoning me.. When I got downstairs, Shana was holding the door open, pointing outside, looking at me.. I stood next to her and sadi “so you’re kicking me out?” and she said yes, so she shut the door on my back and locked it. Connor and his dad told me to phone the police and I ended up staying at Connors for a week, and we made a complaint to social services where Shana works (believe it or not!!)

By November, I’d found a supported housing place to live.. All myself, the only thing Shana and Patrick did to help was just get rid of my stuff by dropping it off at the place I was to be living. Connor and a friend of ours helped me to move in, unpacking the important stuff.. The next day I had college and a performance, so was quite unprepared. I tried explaining it to the lecturer who was organising it and he said that it wasn’t a good enough “excuse” for me not being fully prepared. So I went out and bought the clothes I needed for the performance.

I found it hard to sleep the first night because I was unaccustomed to the new surroundings and tonight was the same. Eventually, I got used to it. After living there for almost 6 months now, they’re thinking of moving me on to a bigger flat, which is good news. But, just 7 weeks ago, I was supposed to be going out with a couple of friends, but the plans changed so I didn’t go.. One of the guys that I was friendly with where I’m living asked if I wanted to go out for a drink so I thought why not? Nothing better to do.. Big mistake. e had my wallet and my keys because I had no pockets to keep them in and he bought my drinks.. I wasn’t neccessarily watching him.. When we got back to our supported housing to go to our rooms, he walked ahead of me, still with my keys and wallet, so I had to follow him back to his room to get them back. Another mistake.. He raped me after the door was closed and I hadn’t even got my keys or wallet back.. I cried and screamed and told him to get off, and he did.. But then got back in aain.. In the end, before anything could happen, I pushed him off and ran out and was sick.. After that, I collapsed.. So, now, all of us who know are guessing that he spiked my drink because one of his friends arrived, who had been taking drugs and possibly had them with him in the pub that we were in. So anything coul dhave happened when I wasn’t watching..

Connor arrived to find me on the floor of a corridr fitting, with people surrounding me panicking.. An ambulance was due to arrive and when it did I was carried back to my room and once the paramedics had left, Connor asked me if something had happened with the guy I’d gone out drinking with.. I told him of course it did, he asked did he rape me and I said yes.. He told me to tell security now, but I couldn’t. I felt so sick, so weak and so hurt.. I was in a lot of pain from the force of what he did.. Eventually, I made my way to security’s office and told both him and Connor what had happened. If it hadn’t been for Connor turning up, I’d have said nothing, no-one would know.. The next day, I phoned the police and told them ad the guy was taken in for 12 hours for questioning and examination.. I was also taken to Yeovil for questioning.. It was horrid, the worst experience of my life. I didn’t eat a thing that day, and we didn’t get back until 5.30pm, so I was exhausted after being questioned for 3 hours..

7 weeks, 2 suicide attempts and 3 SI’s later, I’ve heard nothing from the police, not even got the clothes that they took, back. So, I’m phoning them sometime this week to find out what’s happening, because they said that it would be a 6 week investigation and that they’d phone me each week to let me know what’s happening. Yet I’ve heard nothing for 6 weeks.

So, more depressed than ever and on sleeping tablets because I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep since it happened, I’m contemplating suicide every day.. How can they not see that? When I’e told the so many times that I can’t stop thinking about it?! They’re doing nothing for me, the dr’s! I can’t take it much longer, not knowing whether he’s been proved innocent or guilty is killing me.. I have to see him every day at college too, and everytime I do, I freeze and break out in the shakes and I have collapsed a few times because of that. Does that not say something? Does that not say that I need to know asap, so my mind can be ut at rest? My adoptive parents don’t know, as far as I know because they’ll make things way too difficult for me, they’ll start saying I’m lying or something and I couldn’t deal with that too..

I just feel like the biggest waste of space, time, energy and Oxygen, because of all the betrayal and the lies about me and all of the nasty comments from people. I have coped so far, but how much more can I take?

I notice that another writer is only 13. I am 60 years old (more than 4 times your age) and have been suicidal in various levels of intensity for the past 3.5 years. Lately I came finally to the realization that I am a jumper. I want to climb a 50 storey building (near our home) which is still under construction. I want to break through late night security. I want to climb all the way to the top. I can feel the air, and I can see the security lights on throughout the as yet unopened building. The smell of wet concrete. The air as clean and fresh as can be. I imagine my climb (I think about it obsessively every day) would involve a few scraped knuckles or knees on the way up. Nothing of consequence. My heart would be beating faster and faster.
My motivation is to step out into the cold night air. Eyes closed. Feeling an end over end disorientation. My fear of heights immediately erased. Nothing to fear anymore. No consequences. And as the wind fills my ears with thundering rushes of air, I keep my eyes closed and wait for the moment of extreme/ecstatic release. I imagine a bare fraction of a second of awareness I have hit the ground. But after that….nothing but quiet. Nothing but drifting from thought to thought. Or no thoughts at all. No pain, no fear. A new dimension or nothing. It will be what it is.
In any event, I have one last hope: and that is that I will experience being held by the delicate wings of angels.

I’ve been considering suicide for some time now. Three years to be exact. And the fact that I’m thirteen years old is what scares me the most. I’ve been depressed for so long and im tired of being tired! (in other words, im always about to fall asleep even if i just slept for 20 hours) I took therapy for a while, but then my family couldn’t afford it. My family doesn’t know that I still want to end my life. Basically, I feel like a loser and no one gives a damn about me. Literally, I think the world would benefit w/out me in it.
If I weren’t such a chicken, I’d be gone by now. (Meaning the only thing that has stopped me is my fear of slow, extremely painful deaths)

When you wake up each day, and realize, you don’t want to go through the day.
When you realize, all the wonderful concepts you learned as a child, are wrong.
When you realize the world really is an ugly place, full of people getting what they can.
When you realize you had no training for picking a good mate. So you picked the prettiest.
You paid for picking the prettiest, the rest of your life.
That another man will be raising your kids.
People worship money.

Our stars are jerks. Even Barbara Walters dates married men. And brags about it. She should be shunned. Instead, they all seek to UNDERSTAND her. Maybe we should seek to UNDERSTAND all the rapist too.

Of all the ways to die, CO2 is the easiest, the gun shot to the brain is fast and easy. Use a powerful gun.

The light blue on white letters make it very hard to even read the page you land on. I have a very low tolerance for frustration right now.

I have been trying to get help. Really, I have been trying so hard, trying to stay alive. Intellectually, I know my family loves me, my friends care, life can be good. But I’ve been in emotional pain so long and every where I turn there’s another road block, something else beating me down. I can’t work right now, I’m on social assistance, and I’m trying to get my meds changed so I can get my life back. I want to work, I want to be happy, but I just find it hard to remember what that was like.

I was happy for 10 years thanks to Prozac. It worked, it helped, I was alive and happy. Then I went off the meds for a medical test (don’t EVER go off your meds without something else lined up) which was ridiculous: they wanted to measure my “normal” sleep state. If I’m always on meds, then that IS my normal sleep state. When I went back on the meds they no longer worked.

Now I’ve spent the past 5 years up and down, meds working for awhile, then not. Trying something new, then losing it all. I’ve lost everything: I was making $75,000 in a fabulous career, I had lots of friends, a fiance, guardianship of a little girl I love as my own, a wonderful house I owned and four beautiful dogs. I gave at least10 hours a week to help those less fortunate than myself. I believed I was a good person, and although I was far from perfect, I believed in my future. I was told I was a great parent to a very difficult little girl.

Now, I am in a home I “rent” from my parents, my fiance left me for a girl literally half his age, I can’t work, I’ve used up all my savings, my 401k, my IRA, my health, I’ve gained so much weight I can’t even mention it and three of my dogs have died. Oh, and my 14 year old daughter keeps running away to be a drug-addicted prostitute. I have no idea where she is or if she’s even alive. My sister is on the other side of the planet and I’ve never seen my nephew. I’ve distanced myself from all my friends because I’m so ashamed of what I’ve become. I’m in a catch-22, I cope with my depression by eating crappy and hiding away and that just makes me physically feel bad and makes the depression worse.

Anyway, I know my meds are off and that is my main problem. All the self-help in the world won’t work when the chemicals are this wonky. I’ve been without the resources to get to a doctor. I went through a huge process, with social services including a psych review (where she diagnosed me after a few minutes with something I’ve never been diagnosed with in 25 years of depression). But I finally qualified for health care in February. I had to wait for the documention to go to a doctor. I got a referral and had to wait to hear back. When I heard back, I found out that I needed to go to a new medical doctor because, although the first one took med coupons, they didn’t take *my* med coupons.

So on to the second doctor who referred me to their behavioral health person. She evaluated me and determined I had a completely different diagnosis which was beyond absurd (I have been in the mental health arena with these difficult kids for many years and the friends I’m still in contact with who are therapists laughed hysterically when I told them what she thought.) She had to discuss it with the psychiatrist and would get back to me in two weeks. Two weeks later I sat in her office and she still hadn’t been able to talk to the psych. A few days later she called me to say they both felt I could better be treated at ANOTHER facility.

Ok, another week to finally get the referral through, then they had two weeks to respond. They got me in 3 weeks later. Except, they called me that morning as I was on my way out the door to say the intake person was sick. Ok, that happens, I understand, but they said they would call me back to reschedule. That afternoon I called and left a message begging them to fit me in as soon as possible. That was May 1. They called me the next day and left a very nice message saying the earliest they could fit me in was the 23rd or the 27th. And yes, it will be an intake and then I’ll be referred to the psychiatrist and then put on meds. So maybe by the end of June the meds will start so perhaps by August they’ll take affect?

I take it day by day, holding it together, waiting to get new meds. Doing all the self-help things I can think of, keeping my mind off things, allowing myself to eat to cope since it’s better than drugs or death, forcing myself to leave the house, going to sleep when I can’t face anything else.

But I just can’t bear it anymore, I can’t wait until August for this pain to go away. I can’t cope with the smallest thing. Today my young, insecure dog fought with the old lady dog and got her ear and she bled. Ear wounds on dogs are like scalp wounds on humans: they bleed profusely and look more serious than they are. But I just lost it, I broke down sobbing hysterically, thinking I have to get rid of my boy, I can’t cope with him.

I called my friend in tears who tried to point out they were just being dogs but I couldn’t even see that. Hours later I can now, but the embarrassment of calling hysterical to my therapist friend, knowing she’s thinking how badly my meds need adjusting, how off my rocker I am right now, it’s so horrible.

I want to apply for a part time job at an agency for whom I’ve done contract work. I was there today trying to make a good impression but I feel so big and awkward and socially inept right now. I felt like everything I did and said was wrong and so I’d try to fix it and it would just make it worse. I don’t have any faith in my ability to get the job. But I have to start paying real rent soon and without proper meds.

I know it’s a package deal: therapy and meds together. But I also know myself and when I’m on meds I need minimal therapy. I’m easy-going and good at talking things through, being gentle with myself. Without meds, nothing is clear, I can’t see myself objectively, I can’t be sure I’m coming across the way I want to come across. I feel like I’m a puppeteer trying to make this awkward shape convey itself clearly to the audience using only strings.

I’m tired. I’m so tired. My sleep apnea machine broke and I’ve been getting the run around trying to get a replacement part. Without it I can’t get a decent night’s sleep which just exacerbates my problems. I let it go to long, it’s my fault I waited until it was broken before replacing the parts that were wearing out, but again, I’m running into so many hurdles. The place I got the sleep study done can’t find it, don’t believe I had it done there, and won’t return my calls. I have a bill, proof it was done there but I can’t even get it to them!

I’m a reasonable person, I’m not a hot head who yells at people and turns them away. I’m diplomatic and kind and gentle. I probably am not being assertive enough. I don’t know. It’s all so hard.

And then there’s my daughter. Everyone tells me I was a good parent to her. No one else could keep her more than a few months either before or after and she was with me for seven years but now I can’t get her to stay anywhere for more than a few days. I don’t know how to get her to stop putting herself at risk and I’m so scared for her. And I question myself: could I have done better? No, she is mentally ill, far more so than I am, but that connection is how we survived those years. I understand her in ways no one else does. But now even I can’t relate to who she’s become.

At 13 I played boggle with my MIT-bound best friend and giggled and drank ice tea and ate pretzels and made up silly word games. She was sleeping with older boys and adult men to have a place to stay for the night, even though she had a home where she was loved and had clear boundaries and limits but everything she needed if not everything she wanted. At 14 I tried to take my life for the first time but even then I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t sleep around. I knew that was not a life. Perhaps that’s why I tried suicide: the options other girls see weren’t options. I wanted to go to college, to have a career and I was in too much pain but I knew drugs wouldn’t help. In many ways I’ve never been a child.

Do here I sit, fretful for my daughter, unable to even help myself. How can I save her if I can’t even cope with a stupid dog fight? I yelled at my dogs tonight. I never yell at my dogs but I have been lately. How will I get through tonight let alone the next few weeks and months until I get the help I so desperately need?

I think that was the catalyst. When I am suicidal I try to remember my dogs. What would happen to them if I died? Who would care for them? Two are old and would be put down, the third is insecure and doesn’t do well with change. He gets into fights when he’s threatened. People would see it as aggression and he would be euthanized, too. So my death would result in the death of three additional sentient beings.

But if I can’t control them, if I can’t keep them safe, if they can’t stay with me, then what will keep me alive? If I’m not needed then what is the point?

I’m exhausted now. I’m sure that’s one of the main aims of this forum: make people write it out, it’s like journaling, like therapy, it eases some of the tension and maybe we can survive another day. It doesn’t necessarily matter if someone reads it, verbalizing helps… usually.

I will go to bed now and tomorrow I will feel a little better and I will make it through another 18 or 20 hours before the next crisis. I am so afraid of death and yet I am so close to it. I am afraid of a lack of control, of the world taking me without my permission. Yet I am not afraid of taking it myself, I come so close at times. How twisted is that? No wonder so many religions see suicide as a sin. How else do you stop someone from doing it? You can’t, the person is his/her own worst enemy. I’m my own worst enemy.

It’s weird to know that. It’s odd that at times when I’m doing fine I can matter-of-factly admit that there is always a strong likelihood that I will die of this disease as from any other, even when I’m happy. This is never far from me. But I take it like AA: one day at a time. Today I am happy and today I will not succumb.

Today that mantra didn’t even occur to me, let alone work. But now, now, I can go to sleep I think. I hope. I will take Benedryl so I fall asleep fast and don’t think. No thinking. My brain, my greatest gift, is also my greatest burden. No more thinking tonight, no more thinking.

Iwake up every morning and thank god that im alive, and today wasn’t any different. so tell me what went wrong? im 37 years old, mother of 4, i have a grandaughter that’s 2, her mother is due in june with another girl, and all i want to do is end it all. my kids are 22(with a 2 yo and another 1 on the way), 18 yo son, 17 yo daughter and a 16 yo daughter. they all hate me. i’ve been in a loveless marriage from my husband for almost 21 years now. i really didnt think that i was that bad of a person. i mean, i let my kids do what ever they want, i do whatever my husband tells me to do. i dont ask him for anything, i mean not really. i might ask for a new purse or some new clothes every once in a while. you see i was raised without a father so ive never seen what a marriage is supposed to be. so i figured that it was since the husband worked all day that it wasnt the wifes place to ask for anything. i mean for alot of years i more or less asked his permission to do really anything. he didnt want me working, so i didnt, he didnt want me drinking at parties, so i didnt. he didnt want me to go see my mother because she lived in a bad part of town so didnt. we went to see her when he wanted to so we did. he wanted to do everything with his family so we did. i have givin up so much for my family and they seem to think that it wasnt enough. now i cant sya that im the perfect wife or mother. there has been alot of days that the housework or even dinner wasnt done, but when you have 4 small kids by the time i was 21 i was tired. i thought over the years that ive gotten better but i guess not.the thing is that i have no one to talk to. mothers day is coming up and i dont even want to celebrate with my family, the sad part about it is that this might be my last mothers day. my kids say that i dont understand them, well i guess that works both ways. i have never loved anything more than being a mom. my husband and my kids mean everything to me. they dont see it but they do. i used to hear people saying that they dont want kids and i would get a little upset and say that they are stupid. kids are the best thing that we can do, but anymore i see why people chose not to have any. i still wouldnt change my life for anything though. it just gets harder when they grow up to let them go. my daughter and granddaughter came home to live us for a short while and im glad because even though they only lived around the corner i missed them. my other 2 girls keep saying that they cant wait until their 18 so they can leve, but honestly i dont want them moving out. the last few months ive thought about suicide, but then i thought it has to get better but it hasnt. i go to sleep everynight wondering if tomorrow will be better, but tomorrow never comes. i know it would probally be better in the long run if i wasnt here anymore. it will be a finicial strain at first but my husband has plenty of family to help him with the burial cost. as for trying to get into heavens gate, then i will just explain to god why i did what i did, and hope and pray that he will let me in so i can watch over my family. im not being chicken and want to take the easy way out, but i think it’s the only way. i know my kids will hurt at first but then they will lead happier lives.

There is much more that turned me onto suicide years ago. If anyone wants to hear it tell me. Right now, I will tell you my most relevant issue:

I am a FREAK OF NATURE:

The worst there ever was. Why? For starters, I’m fat, creepy, a dork/nerd, unattractive, stupid, have bad posture, stand weird, run weird, walk crooked, boring, lack a personality, say random stuff all the time that nobody cares about (and don’t think that they’re afraid to tell me), have bad breath, take up too much space, laugh weird, have a stupid voice, don’t do anything, drink too much soda, obsessive-compulsive, lack conversational skills, have no life, talk in people’s faces, get obsessed with things, annoying, immature, slow, can’t do sit-ups right, unathletic, take too many cell pictures, wear my shorts too high up, talk fast on the phone, repeat myself A LOT, have two connected toes, cross my legs (I’m a guy) never change my voice, do weird stuff with my wrist (not cutting if that’s what you are thinking), reflect on the past too much and at odd times, two other things I can’t quite understand, too critical, too negative, one thing I don’t want to say, and just plain weird and apparently I say “what” too much. I can’t believe that’s all. As you probably guessed I have never had a girlfriend and try to avoid social situations. I don’t deserve any friends and try my best to be alone as much as I can. Problem is, I get stuck with a few other friendless kids. A kid last year isolated himself by snapping at people whenever spoken to and was institutionalized, so I need to be careful. As a freshman I get no respect. I rarely said anything up through seventh grade and learned my lesson for speaking to people by having to endure “You told me that like 6 times”, weird looks, or the worst-”I don’t care”. People are SCUM. Or maybe it is just me. I don’t keep up with what interests others like pointless reality shows or games. People make false assumptions about me as well so I look stupid (too late). I do watch TV and play video games, but my own things that don’t interest others. To prove how truly pathetic I am, I will list good qualities to show how they are GREATLY outnumbered

-Good friend-nice-cool (according to some accounts)-mellow-not weird (according to a few)-some people actually like how I look-perfect AFLAC duck voice-smart-not annoying (according to one friend)-tall-long legs (relates to how high I pull my shorts)-improved posture-improved stance-have cool sunglasses-cool computer skin-not emo (despite suicidal thoughts and minor self-abuse)-good at math-can cross my legs as a guy-good breath more often than not-not creepy (accusations even out)-good Mexican accent-funny (a few think so)-some kids “love” me-some things I have actually never said before-apparently have some form of personality-my normal laugh isn’t weird just my fake laugh-have two connected toes-athletic (more often than not)-actually, I had a knee injury so the sit-ups running and slowness don’t count, some said I’m not fat-one said muscular-apparently “you don’t mess with me” according to my friends-deep voice-”the best”-one said “random is cool” or something-I can appear out of nowhere-great memory-some like my obsessions-one is under the delusion that I have a live-two kids care about everything I say-I have some friends.

There you have it. Well, maybe “GREATLY” was an exaggeration but the bad ones hurt more than the good helps. I hate being accused of “following” people when I just try to befriend them. I am pretty sure that I have Some of my friends are okay but get on my case a lot. I should go away like everyone wants and burn alive like I deserve (car exhaust is my preferred suicide method).
I have OCD I think and it leads to most of this crap. I hate getting ridiculed and looking stupid in front of people and everybody thinks I am a freak especially me. Nobody understands me and I don’t understand them. I get treated like the lowest dirt of the Earth almost daily and believe every word of it. I believe in God so I am afraid of suicide. And I HATE hearing “Suicide is selfish”, “It only hurts if you let it” and all of that. Anyone who thinks suicide is selfish has obviously never experienced this kind of pain. And how does anyone honestly believe that people WANT to be sad? You think I wouldn’t like myself if I could?! I know I over-analyze everything (stupid OCD). I think I should have a sex change not only to avoid all of the numerous yet seemingly invisible double-standards held against males (custody of children, selective service, biological and social disadvantages) but mainly because I am asked if I am gay (I’m not) and told that I look like a girl because of my hair. That won’t happen because I am so used to being a man.

Sorry that that was long and boring and nobody cares but I had to say it. If anyone else equals my freakiness, I would LOVE to know. I have been falling apart for two weeks now. I haven’t socialized non-school-related since 5th grade except for Instant Messaging. Thx
-One messed-up guy