Suicide is shit. Don't do it!

    This is fucking weird. I want to ask people for advice but I don't. I don't truly believe that they will understand how I feel, and so I get no advice from "real people." Instead of asking my peers, I am forced to ask biased and "un-relatable" people, such as my parents. They've lived through the same phase as I have but they still don't know things like I do. I don't believe that this is possible, that my parents, teachers, counselors, etc... can't understand that they haven't had ALL of the same experiences that I have had.

    It just amazes me that this simple fact is so hard to accept, and that this idea, so very easy to grasp, is so very hard to grasp. I realize that that may make no sense, but think about it and you'll see what I say. It will make sense to you too.

    At the same time, though, I must give them credit for trying to do so. They really do try to understand what I am saying, or so I think, but yet it doesn't seem like they really can. I know that there are some exceptions to this; dannye seems to understand his daughter. A friend of mine, Brigid's parents seem to be able to. This is still not true enough for me though. It really should be, but it isn't.

    Something that I wrote shortly before I tried to commit suicide.

You may be mad at your parents, and you may be angry with yourself, but don't give in to the urge to take a gun and kill yourself, or some other shit like that. You probably won't succeed, and aside from that you'll just fuck your life up, and fuck up the lives of the people around you. All that you care about will be ruined. I know. I've tried.

On the 5th of January, my uncle Tom who had been suffering from paranoid schizophrenia for many years, untreated, did something that totally fucked up everything. My uncle Tom freaked out and shot my pregnant aunt, Kari, 5 times in the head. This really fucked me up. I was already unhappy, just about how my social life was going, and this just set me back to the point where I wanted to kill myself. Then, about five weeks ago I tried to do the dumbest thing that I have ever done. I got so depressed that I tried to cut my own wrists.

I almost succeeded, but at the last minute I stopped. I realized that I would never see the love of my life, Brigid again, and that I would never be able to make he differences that I so very wish to make, such as earning millions of dollars, and then giving tons of it to charities and whatnot. Or making music that inspires millions to try and do something that they though was impossible. To try and succeed. So much I couldn't do. So I stopped and here I am, writing this now to inspire those of you who would try to do this, to stop those goddamn thoughts. There is no easy way out; suicide is the hardest of all.

Then, just today, we finally admitted that my cat, Frodo, is probably gone for good. It makes me sad, because I don't really want to admit that he's gone, but I know that I have to, and that it will be hard. I think that my family really deserves a FUCKING BREAK right now, and it seems like we don't get one, ever. It's been a really long year. I really want to do something, but I don't know what. My Girlfriend and I celebrated our six month anniversary, about 3 days ago (server time) and we're talking, as I write this, about how long this past six months has been. I guess that I just don't know what to do. So much pain right now...


Don't do something stupid, I beg of you. You don't know whom you might hurt. It's not a solution to anything. If you want to, you can e-mail me at: E_Maverick2@Hotmail.com

I will be happy to talk to you, or reassure you, or just listen. I can do whatever you want. I also made a CD after I tried to kill myself, and if you ask, I will be happy to send you a copy. I hope that the music will inspire you to live on.

To quote something that I heard in my Health Class:

Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

Since when did taking joy in life become immature?

Some days it feels as if all the world is blind to the question above.
Some days I feel as if I hold a secret, known to precious few in this section of the world.
I've seen adults look at children with so many different expressions. The indulgent ones, who patronize the imaginative; the happy ones, who sit on park benches and watch the little ones play, with memories of their youth in their eyes. The envious ones, too, who are nearly the same as the happy ones, except they are wishing to be sent back in time, to play as these children are.

Why can't we ('we' being the older generations) just jump up and play too? There are no rules saying we can't; we simply don't. And then we complain at home, to ourselves and to whoever is around to hear, that we miss 'the good ol' days' when we were free to do as we wished.

And then we turn and stare at anyone who does just that.

Stick your head out a moving car window to feel the wind.
Climb a tree.
Go down a slide.
Laugh.

There are no rules saying you can't.

And you'll live longer.

Two years since S. Quebec / S. Caley. It's been beyond words-- so I won't try to describe it. I'll just immortalize it here. I still love you. And I know no one likes disgusting fraternizing amongst noders so... I'm done.

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