suicide

Some might say that suicide is for cowards. I dare them to hold a razor to their wrists and say it as they slice into their own flesh.

I was so happy when I found out the wounds you__ inflicted weren__ serious, that you had stopped._ __es, I stopped. Barry, all of you, see what I did as this suicide attempt. But I didn__ want to die. I only wanted my mom to hear me. To come find me. To see that I was sad. To help me, I guess. I just didn__ have it in me to tell her what I needed. And fine, I get now that she couldn__ read my mind._ He wiped his eyes again. __ut I didn__ get it then. I__ so mad at myself. What was wrong with me that I couldn__ just tell her? That I didn__ have the capacity to ask her for anything.

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.

The minutes felt as long as years and I couldn't be in the sort of time that didn't move, that instead stood still and all I could think of was being allowed to die, being allowed to cut the thread of time forever.

In the depression, was I ever suicidal; or in other words, did I ever think about taking my life? I__ not sure if I ever pondered this act but, honestly, I did not care whether I lived or died; for to me, death had already taken place__nd it seemed to be worse as disbelief gave way to shock_and then reality.

I rummaged through the drawers in search of a strong poison. I thought of nothing as I looked; I had to get it over with as quickly as possible. It was as if it were an everyday task I needed to do.All I could find were things of no use to me: buttons, string, thread of various colors, notebooks__ll strongly redolent of naphthalene and none capable of causing a man__ death. Buttons, thread, and string__hat is what the world contained at this most tragic of moments.

Life is like a sandwich!Birth as one slice,and death as the other.What you put in-between the slices is up to you.Is your sandwich tasty or sour?Allan Rufus.org

To all who struggle with depression or suicidal thoughts: you are not alone. we are all on this journey together. I promise you that there is hope. Let us reach out to one another and walk together in the sunlight.

So that's it. That's the big secret. I tried to kill myself on New Year's eve. Just like Sadie did last night. Only she really did it. I don't know all the detatils, just the basics. She took a bunch of pills. I don't know what they were or where she got them. I'd like to think they were Wonder Drug. Then at least she could have gone thinking she was flying.

There is no afterlife for wilted flowers like me.

The pain will always be in you____ut you will not always be in pain.

Imagine this garden; one you__e planted from seed, cultivated with love. When the seeds break the ground, they seek sunshine, warmth, and nutrients. The seeds have no control over the weather.They are as dependent on it as we are on our minds. You may have control over the location of your garden, the frequency with which you tend to it, and the amount of care you give it, but you can__ control the weather.It may be sunny one day, rainy the next. You prop the vines in the hopes they will flourish once the rain passes. And they may, until the next rain comes. The weather changes, sometimes without warning. Sometimes you can see it coming, much like the triggers a depressed person avoids, and you try to protect the plants before the storm. The intensity of the labor can get frustrating, especially if there is no relief in sight.One day, a tornado or hurricane passes through. Even though you see it on the horizon, you can__ stop it and you may not be able to seek shelter soon enough. The plants are torn from their roots, the garden completely destroyed. You may have thought you could protect it yourself, that the storm wouldn__ be that bad, or you simply didn__ know how or were afraid to ask for help. Your neighbors and family couldn__ help or didn__ know you needed help. The garden is gone. This is the way of depression; if you don__ have it, it__ very difficult to understand this cycle.

Waking up breaks my heart.Getting dressed breaks my arms.Joining the crowd breaks my legs.Letting someone in...does me in.

It's like a door open at the side of the house and this cool breeze is blowing in over the back of my neck. The breeze is Death whispering and that door is open for me to go through anytime I want. And I want to go through. I want the confusion to stop--no, not only confusion but pain too.

The hardest part of life is living it.

There I was, casually wishing that I could stop existing in the same way you'd want to leave an empty room or mute an unbearably repetitive noise.

But then one time, you track down an email address and you're near a computer with Internet access so you don't have that nice cushion and you type what you're feeling and press send before you have a chance to talk yourself out of it. And then you wait, and wait, and wait, and nothing comes back, so all those things you thought were so important to say, really, they weren't. They weren't worth saying at all.

I think that the power over death and life is the greatest strength that any person can have. It trumps sex and wealth. If I'm willing to die no one can master me.