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Posted by on 2021/04/08 under Life

As I’ve read all the stories of young people trying to kill themselves, I can relate. I was there many times before.

The first time was when I was 6. A tornado had hit and the pig shed had fell over, but with half of it sticking up. It was probably a seven foot drop or more. I didn’t have anyone and I buried my secrets deep down, like I do now. Life seemed to be sad and lonely. One sunny summer day when it was me to myself I climbed to the top. Looked out across the miles of cornfields and felt nothing but emptiness.
With a large gust of wind at my back I jumped not wanting to hit the ground by not wanting to be alive. I felt like I was floating, and then I hit the ground. I don’t remember hitting it hard but I blocked somethings out.

The second time was when I was thirteen. I was partying and doing drugs. I really couldn’t tell you what I was feeling because I was numb. Yet again it was summertime. I went up north every summer to see my dad. He was busy partying with friends so I went to spend time with my brother. We were on a drinking bender going on the second or third day. He invited some friends over that had drugs. Pills, coke, pot , I did it all. I was blacking out and didn’t really care what happened to me, like most nights when I would party in Florida or up there. Somewhere and somehow I woke up the next day not knowing what happened. I was surprised to be alive once again.

The rest of the years I lived out causing myself pain. I would burn myself, cut my inner thighs where stretch marks would hide the truth, doing plates of coke, pills (taking and sniffing together, never quite sure of what c***tail I needed), putting myself in danger because I really didn’t care about the consequences. I lost many unlucky friends, always questioned why them and not me, I was the one that didn’t care and wanted to be gone. But I was still alive. I’m sure I could’ve just ended it a real bloody way, cutting my wrist, throwing myself off a bridge, shotgun in the mouth.

The final time was when I was twenty. I lived alone and worked. Not many people came to see me. I would get the occasional call from mom and dad. My body probably would have been in that apartment for days before anyone really noticed. My work might of called someone but then again they really didn’t like me, I started problems and was often a bully to the new employees. I had been sick for a few weeks that turned into a ear infection and sinus infection. They put me on four different medications. I was finally asked to go out by one of my brothers best friends, so I went. Already feeling down it probably wasn’t the best idea. I went, it was after hours and like most times i partied, and I got really messed up. Smoked whatever, drank more then enough and I might of took pills but I was too f***ed up to remember. We all went to leave, but then I didn’t. I sat in my car with the huge weight of sadness and loneliness as I’ve had before. I started the car up and drove not wanting to go home to be alone with my horrible thoughts. I saw that they weren’t that far ahead so I caught up to them. Then looked at _____ with a devious face and sped up. I went as fast as my car would go into a tree. Head was cut, puke and blood was everywhere. When I came to they were cutting off my clothes. I still was alive. I had a harassing officer try to get blood out of a arm that didn’t have much in it. I got seven staples in my head and just like that sent home. No one asked because no one cared. Afterwards I had a hard time remembering things, such as the alphabet and my sentencing was scrambled, not much different then how my stupid head is normally.

The final attempt that I didn’t attempt. The year was 2019 December to be exact, I slowly again went into that dark slump that I couldn’t shake. Trying to find away out in all the wrong places. Causing pain on the people around me. He wrote that he didn’t want to come home from work at times. He grabbed the blade. He didn’t want the kids to see my bloody lifeless body.

There is a plan, you need to stay around to see it out. Times get hard, unbearable even. Stay strong. Keep your hopes up and your dreams alive.

2 thoughts on “Why I want to help

  1. Robert Brooks says:

    We need to allow for suicide to be okay, for the truth is that we don’t know what it means, but that person is alone when they decide to take their own life. They feel isolated and alone and everybody feels that all the time. Suicide is about bringing issues to the surface so that we can deal with it.

  2. Anonymous says:

    I have been dealing with issues my entire life. I won’t bore you with details, but this was written as a “you are not alone or wrong for feeling like this” it was a expository writing. I have done a lot of self exploration the last year or so.
    There are many deep rooted issues that cause many others in my life. Just as anyone else I am dealing with things in my own way. With CPTSD I found that actually talking about the main issues from my childhood only makes me feel more stuck in the past, the hurt, the emptiness, the guilt (which I found is a common feeling with depression), and the sadness. I don’t think that suicide is the answer, you can’t see that at times. There is always a plan to your life and you are not in control.

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