Don't read if you're sensitive to suicide. Vent.
When I was 10, I tried to kill myself for the first time. It was nothing big, I had hoped that I'd get brain damage from smashing my head against bricks LMAO.
I tried again, I don't remember each time I tried.
I think the one that marked me the most was at 14, when I had planned to hang myself using string, I had made a lot research online and I had a well thought out plan. I had asked my brother If he knew where the ropes were, he said he didn't, I looked everywhere for them but I couldn't find them. Around a year later, I got high and I tried to OD on pain meds (I didn't know ts didn't do anything). My brother came in my room and saw me and I started crying and I told him how i cut myself and stuff and he hugged me, then he told me that he had expected me to do this, so he had hid the rope in his bedroom for a year. I had never previously told him about how I felt.
Last time I tried was in April. I OD on more than 400mg of anti depressants + 100mg of some other pills. It was so close to working. But I had miscalculated my plan. One of my friends came over without me knowing and saw the state I was in, they forced me to call 911. I had told one of my friends prior that I had taken a bunch of pills to kill myself (before my friend who called 911 came), they told me I couldn't lie to the paramedics (they were trying to make me call 911 but I didn't do it). After the paramedics came, if the whole point for me to OD was to die, why would I tell them that? My goal the second they arrived was to get out as fast as possible to try again. So I lied. I found an excuse, and it worked. I just had to pretend I was mentally sane for 3 days. 3 days where I was barely covered up, my scars exposed, doctors that touched me all over the place and didn't question why I was pushing them off of me or why I was shaking. Instead, they looked at me like I was a abnormal creature. Each time they spoke to me, they'd look down to my arm, then my chest. The first doctor I was administrated told me "I dont believe what you're saying. If we let you go, and you end up killing yourself, Ill be the one getting in trouble for it." The only reason why she didn't believe my lie was because of my arm. She called my parents after I had begged them not to. They didn't bother with my anxiety panic right after. I felt like an alien. I got remarks on my scars more than 5 times. One were nice, some weren't.
Then they moved me into psych watch. Where they took all my stuff away. I felt humiliated. They forced me to remove the top I use to cover my chest under my clothes. None of them cared about my comfort or why I was on the verge of tears when they said I'd had to get rid of it. I had to pretend to be mentally stable for around another 5 hours. I managed to convince 2 Profesional psychotherapists that I was mentally sane. Then they let me go back home.
All I was to those people at that moment was an animal. The first doctor that had been administrated to me forced me to take off a bandage on my arm I was using to cover my slightly fresh cut, and didn't bother replacing it. She looked at me like everything I was saying was lie, like I was full of shit. Maybe because I am. There was no empathy, just the look of someone who was bothered.
I just had to pretend. Pretending isn't very hard. I know what they expect to hear, what they'll be asking, I've already read all about it. + I had my brother to back me up, since he was convinced my lie was true. I crafted everything for years. Lying to everyone and pretending I'm getting better, so all the cards were playing in my favor for the most part. I never told anyone about my suicidal thoughts, when they started or how.
The next chance I have is in a couple of days. My parents will leave for a 14 days vacation. If I try anything, it has to work. It needs to be immediate. If it doesn't, I won't get as much luck in lying my way out. I could just wait until the day I should be considered an adult, but I don't want to grow up. I don't want to be an adult. I've ben treated like one for so long, but the thought of actually becoming one in unbearable.
And so, in about 2 weeks, I will try to jump off a bridge. There's one around 3 hours of walk away from me.
It dosent matter in the end. I'm just another basic mentally "ill" teen. And it's not like we're all going to live for much longer. I have no hope for the future. So I'm actually just doing myself a favor by leaving early.
If my body gets found. I hope it gets beaten and ripped apart. My skin shredded off and my brain blown out. My teeth smashed into the ground, my genitals used for whatever purpose the perpetrator desires. Slam my bones into rocks and watch them break apart. Then feed the rest of my body to the bugs in the earth. It'll make me more useful than I've been in the 17 years of my existence.
Im deleting this later. Not because I want to, but because tumblr is a pussy when it comes to mental health.
