How about suicide?
“Why do I keep going?” That is one of the many depressing thoughts that went through my head all day, every day. At the time, suicide seemed to be the only way of ending my sorrows. When I look back on all that I thought of doing and the things I actually did do, I am not even sure why I was so miserable to even consider doing something so selfish. Yet, these thoughts crossed my mind more often than I care to admit.
“Why am I so depressed?!” I honestly had very few answers for this question. I mean, I had problems just like everyone else, but mine seemed to weigh more heavily on me than they did on others. My parents always seemed to be mad at me. Whatever I did never seemed to be good enough for anyone, including myself. In school, I was a great student, but I was always the one that was overlooked or forgotten. Everything from my mom getting mad at me for not having the dishes done to getting a splinter just added to the anger and frustration and the overall morose outlook on life. I felt completely and utterly abandoned.
“How about suicide?” This particular question popped up after an intense fight I got into with my parents. I cannot even remember what the fight was over, but the question was there all the same. This question stuck with me for an achingly long period of time until one day I decided I would do something about it. I attempted suicide-lousily- but I attempted it. I slit my wrists, but apparently not deep enough. No one ever found out. I just wore bracelets and long sleeved shirts to cover it up until they healed. A short while later, I took some pain pills but almost immediately vomited them back up. Obviously, I thought I wanted to die, but a part of me would not let go.
“God…Why?” I asked this question more frequently with each passing day. I just could not understand why I was still breathing. I most certainly did not want to be breathing. Each breath was just a cruel reminder that I am still stuck here for a...
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