Suicide: When It Hurts Too Much To Live

In 2005 I was in an automobile accident while at work and little did I know, I lost everything in life that was important to me.
Workers Comp has followed me and refuses to pay for physical therapy any longer be cause it has not been successful but it did help to reduce the pain if only temporary. The most they do is pay for pain medication and in no way does that work any more. They did not pay my orthopedic doctor in a timely manner and harassed him so he refuses to see me now. Everyday of my freaking life I wake up with severe pain. Every day I have horrible headaches, back pain and neck pain that is so horrible that it feels like I need to hold my head so that it does not flop over. I pay for my own mental treatment because it is too much paperwork to request them to and I am severely depressed and sleep 12-14 hours a day now. My husband tries to be supportive but he feels hopeless because no doctor wants to see someone on my employer’s Workers Comp because of the harassment and paperwork involved not to forget how hard it is to get paid. I often think of suicide. Ramming my car into a bunch of trees or an 18 wheeler. Over dosing on my meds and even shooting myself and I have no idea why I just don’t do it other than I am raising my granddaughter and she has no one else. I always look sad, I lost my position at work that I worked YEARS to get, I have trouble keeping my house up and I rarely cook a decent meal when I used to do it all with ease. We even lost our trucking company because I could not do the paperwork any longer and my husband had to take care of me for a while. We have little money now with a huge house note, lots of bills that are a struggle to pay and we even filed for bankruptcy. I am so ashamed and I am useless, I have no worth and I don’t contribute to my marriage. We have had marital relations 5 times since the accident and I was sick for days afterwards due to the pain and nausea. I have nothing to live for. There will not even be a settlement because what I will get will go to pay W/C back for the monies they have spent on my behalf. I think perhaps the only thing that has stopped me from killing myself is knowing they want me to die so they do not have to pay anything else. I hate my life, I hate myself and I have aged greatly due to the pain. I weigh 103lbs and look terrible, my face is full of wrinkles plus I have no muscles left due to lack of activity because I am always in pain. I hate my life now because of what it has become. NOTHING

I’m a 33 year old female and I have depression and everyday I have to deal with living is becoming worse and worse.I hate having to deal with so many painful hours of the day.I can’t take the pain no more because it hurts me so much to live anymore.There’s no way for me to escape my pain,I have already written out my suicide note.No one will miss me anyway so no one will be hurt about my death,I’m sitting here in my bedroom alone with a knife in my hand and I have a strong urge to slit my wrist which I will do.I’m trapped in a black hole with no way out and I want out,nothing in my life will ever change and get better.Its too late for me.

In my first comment I said that I have no way to escape my pain,but I do have one way to escape and that is sleep.I sleep 12-18 hours a day.My depression was caused by the death of my dad,the death of my best friends,the death of my aunt,and my God dad.Also I was terminated from my job,I worked at my job for 13 years and they terminated me for something I was falsely accused of doing.I have been job searching and putting in apps but no one has called me.I was denied unemployment so I have on income.There’s just no point in me going on anymore.

Money is the most evilest thing mankind has created, is what driven my thoughts of ending myself. God, I don’t want to be a slave of Money, but then everyone around is his servant which if you refused to keen, you will be come some alien that living off the street. All I wanted is living freely and grow my own food, but turns out that’s too much too ask for. It feels like living in a no fence prison, everything is Money driven. WHY are we living backwards ? Just WHY?

I quite frankly have had enough. Today I badly cut myself all over my chest and stomach, both arms and have reached the point of despair.

I can no longer cope and am sick and fucking tired of dumb ass people saying “suck it up” or “those thoughts and ideas are selfish” etc.

I’m sick an fucking tired of retarded governments and policies that are racist and in violation of peoples human rights.

Policies that cause people to become extremely vulnerable.

Especially those who actually do have something to offer, yet all these people who do fuck all get anything and everything.

I’ve had it. I’m fucked off with this shit. I never asked to be this way. Neither did I ask for the fucking childhood I experienced nor did I have a choice in where I was born.

I hope that many people wake up. Especially those ignorant people out there.

Thank you for such a brilliant post on this subject, best i have read about it. Thanks again

I intend to end my life this week, bought drugs, need to tell my friends my plans as we are moving to a new house together and the rent is under a join contract. Just had to tell people who might empathise. Weird thinking that 31 yrs. ago I did not exist and soon, I will return to non-being while the world will go on.

the reality is that suicide will lead to just as bad if not worse feelings and thoughts in the after-death condintion.whether anyone believes this or not doesnt change the fear of that possibility in the people who are bright enough to realize that suicide isnt a way out.the only way out is in.

I’ve made 2 serious suicide attempts. So this is a serious subject for me. Both of these attempts were spur-of-the-moment decisions. (This does not mean, however, that I regretted them afterward.) I know I’m supposed to call someone for help in these situations. The problem is, if I’m rational enough to call someone, chances are I’m not in danger. But, if I’m genuinely in danger, it’s more than likely I won’t be rational enough to call someone. I’ll just want to die. I wonder how many other suicidal individuals feel this way?
There seems to be no answer to the problem. At least no one has come up with one yet.

Here is a woman who suffered as a child at the hands of parents, teachers even peers. Knowing as a child that something was different about her, not understanding why even as a child she felt alienated from everyone and what they were experiencing. Feeling very odd in a First Communion dress she approached the altar and received the Eucharist as a third grader, in her hand. Two years before taught that touching the Eucharist was a grievous sin, but this last year, all that changed somehow, not even understanding or getting the terminology correct at that tender age, she just knew it had to do with someone getting “Fat again, too…”
Catholic school was conducted by the Sisters of St. Joseph who wore all black, long robes that made one wonder if they had feet, and tight veils that made one think that they had no hair. But this year, they looked different, some wore shorter veils, some wore none at all and the long black robes were gone and guess what, these odd women did have feet, but they wore the ugliest shoes.

One day in second grade all the classes stopped, the school got really quiet and some of the Sisters cried, came into our classrooms and knelt right down on the hard tile floor and prayed and told us to fold our hands they way they had taught us with all our fingers pointing up and thumbs crossed over one another, bow our heads and pray with them. It was difficult to understand it all, but they prayed about President Kennedy and how we had all suffered a great loss, and the world would not be the same and please Lord, let your forgiveness and mercy and grace oversee even this tragedy. It was the most muted day I ever remember as a child, and to express ourselves, we saluted like John John every chance we got, even though it was really difficult to understand it all, we saw the videos and the fancy Jackie lady crawling on the trunk of the car, and we knew it looked really dangerous and scary.
There was a lot of stuff happening in the world and people were really angry about it all. Even as a kid it was difficult to not absorb that unrest, that angst, the edgy vitalness of it all. So it became the foundation of who we would become, helping in making us who we are now.

Being a teenager was the cruelest of all. There was a lot of free sex and drugs and rock n’ roll to numb out on and obliterate the pain, protest the injustices with, rebel against the system with. It was so easy to fall into. The person I loved the most, my father had passed quickly in 1970, two weeks ill with terminal cancer and he was gone. My mother became the bitterest person in the world, making me now look just bittersweet even. It literally killed her losing him, and her demise nearly killed me. I was twelve years old and beginning my adult life in a blunt brutal way. I remember the day climbing the steps at her house and realizing that childhood was now over for me, the only love I truly knew, my father’s was now gone from my life, and my mother resented me more than ever. She almost died giving me birth and I think she resented me from the day I was barely born and surely vowed that my life would be a rough one. In contrast, she adored my brother, four years my senior and doted on him in every way, gave him every thing, loved him as much as I loved my father. The dynamics were certainly explosive in this family, a family that was blowing apart quickly now that the love had died with my father, and was now buried and rotting in a hole somewhere. My father and brother never related too well, funny, I was the son my dad never had, we were so alike. Since my brother never got it right with his father, he was now especially angry. He hit me very hard many times, my mother never, not once protected me from him. Eventually this worked against her, as he finally turned his rath on her. I tried to defend her though because she seemed so helpless and unwilling to do anything to stand up against her prized son, or admit that he was doing any wrong. She was afraid too though, he was so strong, and when he would hit you, it would stun you immobile for quite a while. He hit me in the face once, and to this day, my jaw is still dislocated from the impact. Odd, my mother though a registered nurse, never took me for any medical care after my father died. I just suffered through it, she told me that it would make me stronger, and the philosophy became indelible in my life, and there was so much more suffering to come.

I wasn’t sixteen yet. I escaped by getting high mostly and even self-abused because I hated me and truly believed that the suffering could only make me stronger, as I was taught. We tend to believe the things our mothers teach us.
Then she had a stroke at work one day and descended into this spiral of physical and mental suffering that is difficult to even think about. My brother was gone from the house now, and I skipped all the events that led to that because recalling all the fighting, all the crashing and breaking of everything, all the pain and blood and crying is too difficult to relive even in words.
But he was gone from the house, and there I was left with my suffering ill mother in the war torn aftermath of my young life.
What in the hell do I do now?
I suffered with her for a long time trying to care for her, sinking with her into more pain and suffering, until it almost killed me, i almost killed me, until death came and left so many times that sometimes I wonder if this is life or if I actually did die and went to hell – and this is it. Finally, I had to leave the house too, I won’t call it home.
Now what?

Was I homeless? Was I transient? Was I lucid? Was I even a person? I wasn’t even twenty yet, but I still felt like that twelve year old on the basement steps, knowing that childhood was over but not knowing how to grow up. I guess I wouldn’t know for a long time… Have I grown up yet?
All I know is that I can not hit bottom again any lower than I once hit bottom and rose again. The details would be difficult to write, I could do it, but I am not sure who my audience is, I am just writing… It would be really sad to see those details in black and white…
Eventually through faith and grace and purely God’s help, I entered a CETA program and learned office skills. I got a job as a data entry operator and I finally got a place to live – a garage apartment, It was mine though, and I worked and made my way. Sounds really like low life living, but for me, it was large. Since I had really mucked up high school good and barely graduated by the grace of the Dominican nuns there, I was determined to rectify my academic self. My brother was always an all A honor student and according to him, I was his stupid little sister.
I went back to college and collected orphan SS benefits to do it. I failed miserably at first, had no direction and did not understand a thing about how college worked. Probably still don’t judging from my effort and results.
My mother still waned physically and I would visit her in a nursing home and die a little bit each time I saw her there. Even though my mother treated me so badly, I still loved her and so wanted her approval and love in return. I never ever remember her ever telling me that she loved me. Maybe my father didn’t say it either, but he showed me how much he loved me and I knew that he did. Guess I would have to hold onto that memory.

I worked a lot of I.T jobs in my day, slowly progressing from data entry operator to main frame computer operator to production scheduling to finally quality assurance specialist, which was to be my last position in I.T. I put in over 25 years in processing for financial institutions and 10 years in public service. One day I admitted that I had totally burned out, got up and walked away.
My mother died on an early september day in 1985 in a state nursing facility broke and penniless.. The attorney who was appointed the executer of her estate took all of her and my dad’s life savings and lined his own pocket with it, using all the loop holes available to justify his actions. My brother died the next year in 1986 in a duck hunting accident on Muscamoot Bay, drowning in a squall that came up quick on Lake St. Clair. I was in ohio running a data center processing credit unions sine the summer of 1985 when I left Michigan hoping to also leave a lot of pain behind and get a fresh start. I was not with my mother when she died, I did not even choose the clothes she was buried in, the liturgy readings, nor even the prayer card prayer at her funeral. I attended like a distance niece, and I felt even further removed from her than from her life. My brother’s quick and sudden death at age 32 would change my whole life from a single determined working recovered woman who had established herself somewhat and survived, to a guardian for his children who had a rip torn upbringing of their own. They were difficult. They were in my brother’s custody removed from their mother’s custody because the state of michigan removed them from her residency because her live in boyfriend was abusing them. They each have their own story to tell of young childhood, but now, I was their hope for a fresh start. What should I do? Walk away from them? My brother had treated me so well, right? And he left his small life insurance policy to his gambling addicted high school buddy, not his only living relative, his stupid little sister.
I took the girls and became their guardian.
Sit-com ensued.
It wasn’t easy. I was only twenty seven years old. I still felt like that twelve year old child on the basement steps with a ripped away childhood..
I brought the girls to ohio and sent them to a catholic school, it seemed right. Got braces for Heather’s teeth, bought them clothes and gave them a good place to live and took them to mass every sunday, much to their chagrin. They both graduated high school, they both got married, they both had children, they both got divorced, much to my chagrin.
I like it when people stay together. This seminar in motherhood took ten years of my life. I was now thirty seven years old.
I still felt like that twelve year old on the steps in tears realizing that my childhood was over.
Having always had faith in the rear pocket of my levis lit the fire of the spirit under my um, posterior region. I went back to school, and took college courses again. I went to Miami University in Hamilton and Middletown. I went to Cincinnati University, because I worked there awhile after being laid off from General Electric Credit Union, and all the classes were free. I still had no idea how college actually worked, what matriculation was, but I was getting good grades, A’s like my brother, not bad for a stupid little sister. It meant a lot to me, but I still did not know what I was doing really. I took every literature and writing class available, art history and social studies courses. I became interested in religious studies, as my thirst for God was still burning within me, keeping me alive, keeping me on the survivor side, one never forgets God once he literally raises them up in their life from sure death.

My work history was experiencing ups and downs as technology kept rapidly changing. The areas of my expertise kept peaking and disintegrating. I improvised. I worked at the Museum Center as a membership coordinator, I sold cars, I worked temporary jobs from laundry worker to office worker to production worker. I did telephone process ordering for UDF. I spray painted car parts and was an plastic injection machine operator. I was a lab clerk for a dermatologist, I worked in produce markets, nursing homes, restaurants, and even cleaned toilets at the mall. I graded student proficiency tests, I worked in bars doing stand up comedy, at bakeries, school cafeterias, and got my CDL B and even drove a school bus, though I had many solid years in the information technology field. I have worked hard, and I have worked long and once I realized that work was what was going to safe me from a transient life, I never stopped working until 2011 when I collected unemployment after being laid off from a job in a pro-life non-profit agency very abruptly and rudely. I took this job after leaving the county public service job which was probably a mistake. There were pictures of Sarah Palin on the wall there, how could this possibly turn out good? When they realized that they had hired a queer woman as part of their very right wing conservative all male staff, they fired me and claimed that I resigned. I won the unemployment case and collected unemployment for the first time in my life. I was so tired at this point, and in a lot of physical pain from degenerative disc disease, arthritis and past trauma that I just wanted to lie down for a while and rest. I got some relief from cannabis, a habit that stayed with me from youth, though there were many years in-between when I did not smoke at all, three, four or five years of not smoking at a time. But the pain was so acute that I began smoking again for relief. It really helped relax the tired sore muscles and the grinding bone against bone in my neck and back that is so intensely painful at times that I just break down and cry.

Finally finishing an undergraduate degree in Biblical Studies, leadership and ministry in 2009, I was soon to find out that this degree was about only worth the paper it was printed on. There was no christian preacher job for a catholic woman behind this, especially one like me though I did recoup my academic integrity, which I have also discovered is quite worthless. Four years at the christian university did make me want to return to my catholic roots so this is what I did. I felt I had something to offer now and feeling called to embrace others who suffered life and sought to survive, I investigate religious life and thought how wonderful it would be to live in community with others. I went on to pursue my Masters degree at a catholic college to enhance my knowledge further in religious studies and pastoral care, determined to do well. I visited many religious communities and spent time with the sisters, being very honest about who I was and where I came from. They did not want me. I felt worse than that twelve year old sitting on the steps realizing that her childhood was over, and I cried a lot.

Now, I am just about to finish up my degree, but I could be wrong about this as it seems I have come to a crossroad that I had not planned on coming to in this long pursuit of academic studies, that seem to lead to nowhere, I really am that stupid little sister I guess and must have deserved the crack in the jaw from my big brother that sent me sideways forever. I’ll never tell the other stuff he did to me, because even so, he was my big brother who I waited for forever to protect me and love me, just like my mother. They sure were a pair, just like me and my dad. I do not understand why I am the one left here, and sometimes all I can think of is going on too, to wherever they are, thinking it must be peaceful there and there might be no more pain, no more memories, no more uncertain future.
I guess I won’t go today, though I am tempted. I am tempted everyday and I understand dear Sylvia Plath why you left beautiful words and then stuck your head in the oven and empathized truly witnessing with the suffering in the Holocaust. I get it. It is rainy and dreary today though, and it is very tempting, the pain is throbbing and there is no relief from my too kind friend as the Indigo Girls call it, the cannabis indica, I gave it up, I drive a school bus now and I am responsible for other people’s children.
Driving a school bus is such a stupid little person’s job, it doesn’t take a lot of brains or affluent presence, but it sure takes common sense, a willingness to be up every morning before dawn, to be selfless enough to stay clean to serve, and to be totally present in every moment. Sometimes you just have to accept who and what you are I suppose and really think about those who tell you to chase your dream when it makes you go in circles like a dog chasing its tail. Short tailed dogs go around forever never catching it, only eventually spinning into disorientation. Not everyone has a long, catchable tail. Thank God for doggies, if i could have figured out how to have cared for the doggies and also have went out to my car in the garage and started it with the garage doors closed and listened to Nora Jones in repeat mode until I slept away into oblivion, I think I would have done it this time, like the one time long ago I did that, and this angel woke me up and told me to look at the wind blowing through the trees and tell him if I really wanted to go now or not… Damn wind. Can’t even see it, but that day, the leaves danced in such a magical motion they came right off the branches. And I stayed.
I will stay today because I stayed yesterday, though tomorrow will be a new day to decide about. Besides, I am an Ottawa Indian, partly, and one day, I will go out to the desert, find a mountain cliff, and sit there and pray and wait, like they do when they know the spirit MUST leave for good, when the time has finally come.

Trapped.
I’ve always viewed life as though i’m only passing through.I’m not religious in any way, its just that i believe your soul,spirit or call it what you may ascends to a higher consciousness within the universe.Well words cannot really describe it,it just is.Believing this to be the case would help me drag myself out of the bed each morning to face the day.The only thing is i’m finding it harder and harder to live by it.I’m growing tired and weary of the life i’ve made and the roads i’ve taken to get here.A Recession has hit in Ireland, my business is gone , i’m unemployed which brings on low self- esteem and no self worth and worst of all my government has sold us down the river by bailing out the banks and saving the rich.Myself and fellow taxpayers are footing the bill. I am being squeezed for every penny in new taxes, i’m too old to pick up and start over,the future is bleak.They don’t give a damn. I WANT OUT. There have been countless suicides in Ireland because of the recession. Particularly the actions and the behavior of the government.If i was younger i would emigrate but i’m too old and in debt,a debt that follows you to the grave.The government wants the young to leave, though they won’t say this.To emigrate is part of our history and to our shame.Its become a regular talking point that every second person you meet knows someone who has committed suicide as a result of the recession.I personally know of 3 people who checked out.
I have sat in my car many times working out ways to kill myself but the thoughts of my families pain stops me.I am reaching the end of my road, i’m barely hanging on.
Trapped.

I wake up every morning wishing I was dead. By the end of the day I thank God I am alive. I have tried suicide 5 times. All 5 times I tried overdosing. One time I rented a hotel and planned to die there but somehow ended up back at my house. My husband at the time gave me charcoal so that I would vomit what I had taken. I truly believe I’m here for a reason, but seriously, I am so tired of the negative thoughts and the erg to just do it. I’m tired of the pain psychologically. I am a beautiful young women who has so much to experience. I hate feeling so sad and then trying to hide it from others. It’s a constant double life. Put on that happy smile so no one notices. Then when I’m alone my racing thoughts eat me alive with negative. I’m trying to fight this everyday, but for me it feels like just a matter of time.
Thank you.

I have learned, over and over, that harmful thoughts and feelings are fleeting. They are often short-lived, and never last. Remembering that fact gets me through the rough times. Even more effective is talking out what’s getting me down. Between visits to my therapist, if I am having ideations, I find talking to someone on a crisis line very helpful. Not only do I need to protect myself, I need to act responsibly for the sake of my family.

In my best interest, I must not take suicidal thoughts literally. They are just warning signs that my bipolar symptoms need attention.

you just need to STOP THINKING!!! this is the only thing in this world that helps me when my brain is killing me when i have manyyy thoughts in my mind, when voices are shouting and musics are constantly playing in my head when im done with every thing, the only thing that relief my pain is just stop thinking for a moment…this is probably the most difficult thing to do specially at that hard time but there is a strange peace and calmness in this MOMENT when we just turn off our brain and feel the silence of this moment. this is the reality of life.these thoughts are not real these are mostly like illusions that comes with drug or a nightmare which none of them is real. the only thing that is real is this moment and what ever is in it and by accepting that i feel better

I am a 55 year old male and have battled chronic depression for as long as I can remember. After an 8 year period of being off medication ( due to circumstance too involved to get into here) I am back in therapy and on medication. For the past 10 years my only reason for not acting upon suicidal thoughts/urges has been that someone has always “needed” me. Right now, the fear of what my suicide would do ( emotionally ) to my 91 year old mother – whom I help “take care of” – is the only thing keeping my suicidal thoughts in the “thought realm”. I can’t seem to convey properly to my therapist that I am so fed up with staying alive ONLY because of not wanting to inflict emotional pain on someone else. ( if that makes any sense ) Sometimes I feel like such a hypocrite for not acting upon these feelings of not wanting to be alive.

Its just so hard to be alone, to be in a tricky situation but there is no one and realising how little I mater to anyone. That seems so self absorbed, but at 60, to feel so alone is just too much, I have fought it all my life, tried to make connections. Risked on a relationship 6 years ago. but it was a disaster and I didn’t have courage to get out. Now the ducks come home to roost and I have to move and make a home again for me and my cat. I keep thinking I am so lucky compared to so many in this world, yet all I feel is is despair and aloneness. I am so aware of where of where I gave my poster away, left myself open for abuse, yet can’t find the oomph to pick up again and back myself. Just drink to much and face ridicule and homelessness.
sorry, I do seem to be ad=sad sack right now, just want to get some bulls/balls.

I have tried to end it all so many times. But I think that I still want to live. I will overdose but never take enough. I started cutting instead to divert the pain. My boyfriend left me because of the cutting. I am more depressed than I have ever been in my life. Everyday I think ending it all it the best way forward. I am so hopeless I don’t even think about tomorrow anymore, I am trying to be strong but it just feels like its a matter of time before I act. Life hurts too much.

As I read the deep thoughts that affect many, the one thing that still holds so true is the depth of pain that a person feels mixed with different pieces of what life should be…could be but is not for the person that hurts so. Suicide is not a cowards way, it becomes the only way. when we think of those who suffer physical pain we can treat that, but mental pain is hidden deeply within the walls of the person that knows it. Even when the emotions subside, they come back manifested in some other way that stops a person for a moment to remind self, what is the use….struggle hurts every fiber of my being…I pray, I lament, I console my soul to hold on one more day I must spend…depression, anxiety are symptoms yes, when you can see feel them, when you recognize them, it does not mean they are moving randomly through the daily grind of life…sometimes just helping another, I can truly find that living is bettering love for other…but what happens when you can not reach those to do for? What happens when you have been so abandoned by what you believed in, now left on the doorstep of what is called functional but is not of you?

When my husband took his life, the words he said was “I am more trouble than I am worth” I have never forgot this veteran that stood up as I asked to fight for his rights only to feel there was no use to live pysical and mental disadvantage to his wife and his children…this is not what he came home from the war to face, when struggle to work and provide was so embedded with the denials of the state and their policies to not even help those who have done their utmost to work all their life, and face war, face the lack home on the homefront…tell me suicide is not high priority on this palette of destiny…

I wanted to stab myself in the neck today to make the pain go away inside my mind and heart, cos my mum didnt care about a major life change that just happend to me and i thought that if she didnt care about me no one will. Also i have no friends and everyone dislikes me except my partner im staying for my baby and partner they need me and as long as at least someone needs me then thats enough to stay i feel bad i was gunna leave them behind scer all of the biiter people in the world i know im pure at heart

Hi. I am new to this forum. I have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder since my early 20’s. I am now 58. More recently, with Borderline Personality Disorder, 5 years ago. They go well together.
I struggle every single day with the temptation of suicide. It seems like a viable answer to the turbulent feelings and unstable moods, relationships,impulsiveness, inability to make and sustain friendships, poor self image, deep depression that just doesn’t go away very soon. I call this “The Terrible Sadness”. The Terrible Sadness just shows up one day. It comes in, doesn’t knock, like somebody you don’t know and don’t like. It just sits down and stays as long as it likes. Then one day, I wake up and I know I am going to feel better.

I have attempted a few times, but all those failed. Yet each time was becoming more and more ‘serious’. The latest was early Sept 2013. A razor blade and a hot bath. A moment of pain from the razor while the hot bath would lull me in to sleep. Close my eyes and all my pain would be gone. But there was a part of me that still wanted help. Subsequently 6 days in a facility. First time ever in 25 years of MDD. I understand this a lot. I can no longer visualize my death in my head. But … I hope that end of the line will no be seen again.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 13 years old. 7 years later it affects me worse than ever before. I began cutting when I was 12 years old and have tried to stop since but sometimes it is difficult to put a sharp object down. The very last time I was hospitalized was in June of 2013. I cut myself and because I am anemic it took a while for the cut in my arm to clot… my dad found me in my room on the floor with a puddle of blood, I was still conscious but not thinking straight.Due to past attempts I was put on a 72 hour hold at a mental health hospital. I did everything I could to be discharged as soon as possible. The doctor who saw me in the MHH coupled my diagnosis of bipolar disorder with borderline personality disorder. My life has been a roller coaster since then. I ran out of meds two weeks ago and feel like I am falling back again. My last suicide attempt was two nights ago. I passed out after drinking a bottle of robitussin but woke up in the morning and just felt nauseous all day. Living with bipolar I have had much difficulty attempting to control my suicidal thoughts and actions. I wish it were as easy as pushing suicidal thoughts aside…but it’s not. I fear that I will grow older and still attempt to commit suicide every so often. Part of me wants to live but the other part is just tired of feeling alone, worthless, and unloved. I think about suicide almost everyday. I crashed my car back in January hoping not to make it, I made some crucial mistakes. My parents don’t believe that I wasn’t planning on getting out of that car alive. They believe that I was just doing it to get attention and actually put me down several times by saying I am ridiculous for doing something so stupid rather than helping me with this issue…I don’t understand it. They know I have bipolar but they have no idea what it is like to live with it everyday, how often death comes into my mind. I feel like the day that I finally succeed in committing suicide would be the day when they realize I have a serious problem. I need help, the one person I want to talk to about this is no longer a part of my life and I don’t know how much longer I can go on living feeling the way I do everyday.

I’m a young girl, 22 years old. And I’m pretty sure that I’m severely depressed. I can’t remember for how long. For the purpose of this blog I’m going to try and describe how I think and feel:
There is a big problem with me. I don’t know what about me is real and what is fake. And I’m so tired of pretending that I’m normal while I feel the way I do. I’m made of two conflicting personalities. One is naïf and still very much so wants to believe that the fairytales are right. That there is justice, that you will be safe, that it’s never too late for love and friendship. And that one day some perfect stranger will be able to fix whatever it is that makes me so… broken.
On the other side. I simply loath people, I can hardly stand them. I feel as if I have nothing at all in common with them. Any little sign of weakness is viciously attacked. People are always watching you and talking behind your back and that is never going to change. It’s just how people are. And you just have to deal with it.
There is a lot more to these two sides of me, but I’ll spare you the tirade.
In everyday life, both sides are constantly pushing and pulling to take over. I’m not a person who likes any kind of conflict so I let my “good” side take over when I’m talking to people. I play a role of a happy young girl, full of confidence who does the right thing every time and is as close to perfection as I can push myself. (It’s never enough of course.) And often, while I play that part I believe it. I believe that people can be good, it just depends on the situation. That it doesn’t matter if they find me perfect. Who the hell cares, they’re not me, so what the hell. Only I have to like myself.
And afterwards (or sometimes during) I start to go over all the events in my mind. See how one woman pulled a face while I talked. How some person didn’t give me the chance to finish a sentence, or start one, or bothered to listen while I talked. How no matter how hard I try to be the kind of person I want to be, it’s never good enough. I always fall short. What the hell is wrong with these people. I hate them. I hate them so much. Why would I ever try to talk to them again? They’re just awful. It’s not just me, it’s them as well. Is it really so hard to be genuinely nice? I was nice to them…
And so on and so forth. Until I’m completely empty, except for fear and some small traces of hate for the world.
I often think about suicide, I even tried cutting myself and found it helpful. But I know that my parents who are easily depressed themselves would just… be destroyed over it. And because I believe in that kind of made-up justice. I think there is some twisted honor in carrying the burden of my life.
If I could, I would prefer to get an incurable sickness so that I could die but there wouldn’t be anyone to blame.
By the way. Absolutely no one in my life knows that I feel and think like this. They actually all think I’m good. Better then I used to be. I’m good at hiding it, for now. I don’t think I could ever reach out for any help.

I did try it six weeks ago. I took over 100 pills and a box of rat poison. After two days of sleeping and all the pills in the house were gone I decided that I couldn’t even do that right. So I told my daughter and she took me to the ER and mental ward.

What have I learn. I am sorry it did not work. That everyone around you blames themselves. That if you don’t succeed it makes things worst. That many people around you have either tried it or want to. That the correct drugs do help, I have had some suicidal thoughts be have taken no action since them.

I am constantly hurting. I have fear for my future, I am completely lonely. I have sons but they are occupied with their own lives, even my youngest doesn’t seem to care about anything or anyone than himself. I am viewed as the strong person, at work and in my family but nobody knows the despair that I feel. It hurts all the time. The loneliness is so overwhelming, the fear of my future is so scary. Some people (parents) just KNOW that their children are there for them without a doubt, I don’t have that. I am certain that if I’d lose my home tomorrow I’d be homeless because my oldest son would not be there for me. I would love to call him and tell him that I need to talk, that I am suicidal and tell him why I am suicidal but something within me tells me that he would not understand but make me feel guilty rather than understand. I feel so stuck. I have no friends. Sure there are people that claim they love me but in the end, not one of them is there. Life is painful and I don’t want to hurt anymore. I am just waiting for my youngest to graduate high school and then start his own life and then I will check out.