suicide-attempt

I swore as the knife I__ been using to dice our dinner bit into my finger. I dropped it on the floor, blood spattering the counter and cupboard doors a furious red. I watched, mesmerised, as the blood welled up and began to seep down my hand; I tried to catalogue the amount of pain I was in. Surprisingly little, I concluded, pushing at the edges of the wound to see how deep it went. Deep enough. I was starting to feel it now, but it didn__ hurt so much. I__ endured far worse.If it came to it, I could do it. There was comfort in that knowledge.

James had taken his own life, but the need to do so was not something easily explained. He had the life he wanted: money, a home, a job, a wife, a good friend. I__ known people who died at their own hand because life became unbearable, or because something happened, something terrible. That wasn__ so for James__here was something inside him, something a part of him, something over which he had no control, but which had absolute control over him.

That day wasn't the first time I had attempted suicide. Simply disappearing into the distant nothingness where there was no pain and no more feelings - back then I thought it an act of empowerment. Otherwise I had very little power to make any decisions about my life, my body, my actions. Taking my own life seemed my last trump card.

It is like oil. Like molasses, slow at first.Then one morning I woke up and it was flowing free and fast. I thought I would drown in it. I thought it would drown little you and Susan. I got up, got dressed and went out onto the road and tried to jump in front of a bus. I thought it would be a final thing, quick like a bang. Only , it wasn't.

Everyone has scars, they just aren__ as visible as yours.

It__ a little-known secret, and it should probably stay that way: attempting suicide usually jump-starts your brain chemistry. There must be something about taking all those pills that either floods the brain sufficiently or depletes it so completely that balance is restored. Whatever the mechanism, the result is that you emerge on the other side of the attempt with an awareness of what it means to be alive. Simple acts seem miraculous: you can stand transfixed for hours just watching the wind ruffle the tiny hairs along the top of your arm. And always, with every sensation, is the knowledge that you must have survived for a reason. You just can__ doubt it anymore. You must have a purpose, or you would have died. You have the rest of your life to discover what that purpose is. And you can__ wait to start looking.

I realized then that all of the problems in my life that I thought were unsolvable were in fact solvable__xcept for having just jumped.

Suicide is a permanent answer to a temporary problem." They say, it's not an "answer" in any way. Taking your own life is SE Self Execution, many have said that's a terrible name. I ask should killing yourself sound good?

Out of frustrations, out of desperation, out of disappointments, out of mediocrity. out of idleness,out of limited insight, out of difficulties, out of insatiability, out of poverty, out of pain and the vicissitudes of life , so many people shall come to a conclusion that nothing is worth living for; not even what is solemn and sacred but, some shall always turn the woes of life into great land marks and indelible footprints worth emulating

There seems to be a direct correlation between the spike in suicides by young people and the increase in cyberbullying amongst young people.

I can see the cracks in society, in people, in this world and I'd rather die before slipping into one of them.

Yes you have returnedAnd things are as they wereBut this you cannot hide,A part of you has died.

The day Cami nearly succeeded at her suicide attempt was the worst day of Kaci__ life. Cami was the only sister that she had, and she couldn__ imagine spending the rest of her life without her.

When the patient began speaking, Robert continued, he sounded unlike any person I have ever met before. Sure, his actions signaled that he was crazy, but his presence_ Jessica, his presence was like what I imagine it would be to be close to a holy person or a spiritual master. I mean, that is really the only conclusion I can come to.And the holy guy tried to kill himself? Come on Robert. That just sounds ridiculous.

Know this Mr. Davis. I am not crazy. I am not sane. I am not alive. I am not dead. I am not even the human being who you call Dr. Vigo Andersen. I was never born and I will never die. I am an eternal being. I am that I am. This, what you call reality, is just a collective dream. I was about to wake up from it permanently when I was yanked back into this temporal space. I did not try to kill myself. I tried to wake up.

I half-expect to check out, but I'm really there for it. It's not like at the dance, angry and forced. It's terrible in its gentleness and he's just wasting it on me.

Rising from the ashes, I am born again,powerful, exultant, majestic through all the pain.

Logan looked at her and wondered how someone so beautiful could be so oblivious to their own beauty, how someone so smart could be so foolish to the extent of their own intellect and how someone so loving and compassionate could ever think she wasn__ worthy of love? It was like watching a blind man trapped and wandering aimlessly and helplessly in a scorching hot desert unable to see the small puddle of water that lay just a foot away. The only difference was that she had eyes. Two beautiful ones, yet she could not see. Is that what madness was? Was it to be able to view and appreciate every form of beauty but to be blind to the value and exquisiteness of one__ own? Logan believed in many forms of insanity but he knew in that instant watching her trembling frame on the train tracks that hers, that her illness, surpassed any clinical or psychological term known. Maybe she did suffer from depression or bipolar or schizophrenia. Who knew? All he was certain of in that moment that she suffered from no greater illness than the blindness of the heart.