Reading these suicide pages you will find people seeking help and people offering their help. Some witness about suicide from real life experience, others who play along with me would pretend it's a children's game. Some make sick and cruel jokes about it, and angry people blame me for even mentioning the subject. You might also want to read my favourite answers. If you want your answer to be included here, fill in the form.

Date Name/email

What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13?

Quelle est la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans?
08 Jul 2006   Why don't you people stop feeling so sorry for yourselves and get help?
Life is what you make it. Turn your life around into something more giving?
08 Jul 2006 Emily cutting your self isnt suicdial...its a pain reducer. It actually releases natural self depressants. Hence why you want it more and more; So if you are doing it to get attention stop it, cause you have no fucking clue the pain one can feel and the only way to realease the pain is from cutting cause all yopur attempts hagve failed
08 Jul 2006 concerned Why would anyone want to kill themselves? Isn't that the coward's way out? Aren't there people out there that could help you to over come your afflictions?
08 Jul 2006 tasha when ur under 13 life sucks! all the posh girls trying to get the boys attention picking on u cause the biyz like u 4 who u r not cause u straighten ur hair, do ur nails, worry about wat u wear. its all sad. live sucks sumtimes cause people themself make you feel so low. they pick on u 4 no reason. just cause ur urself. dont make urself 2 be anythin ur not it just aint worth it. believe me ive been beaten up 6 times by boyz brought through hell an back also tried 2 commite suicide
08 Jul 2006 waza razor blade your skin off then dive in a vat of salt
08 Jul 2006 Jemma Ok...I ain't here to say to u all..oh no dont kill all means go right ahead...but no1 on this site is serious..because people who are depressed dont like to talk about it...they dont go on about how much they want to kill themselves...ther out ther actually doing just all wake up to yourselves and realise that you dont even have problems...try being raped when your 7...then almost stabbed to death by your own mother than come back and tell me how depressed you are...
08 Jul 2006   I tried to hang myself when I was 12, but I was caught in the process. And to all these people "slitting" their wrists, you aren't trying to kill yourself, if you were going to then you'd know you don't cut across the vein , you cut with it. I can tell you this though, after being to war twice, I have seen and smelled more death than I care to. I lived 20 feet from rotting corpses. All this combined with killing the enemy ruthlessly, has made me numb. I can't go five minutes withought thinking of killing myself. and the only thing that stops me is I don't want my wife to have to see, nor my 5 year old son. I played Russian roulette last week, but musta missed my chance. I can tell you this, the human race is a disease, and if you think you want to kill yourself, do it. Just make sure you kill the rest of your family first. It will be a good form of population control, and get those of us too ignorant to live off of this earth. Just do your family a favor and kill them first, I mean, just cause we want to kill ourselves doesn't mean your not compassionate right? As for me, someday I may get the balls to kill my son, wife, mother , father , brother, niece, aunts and uncles, but until then, I guess I'm a loser missing out like the rest of you.
07 Jul 2006 a heart broken girl The best way to kill yourself when you are 13 is-NONE!! There is only 1 right way to die, and thats of old age!!! If your 13, you should be thinking about what your going to wear 2moro. I lost my sister because of THIS website!! You need to talk to someone about. Dont throw away your life.
07 Jul 2006 I'm me and thats all I'll ever be Thank you mouchette.
07 Jul 2006 I'm me and thats all I'll ever be Less than 1% of all people who try to overdose by painkillers or sleeping pills will actually die. Most will vomit, some will not. All experience a massive amount of pain or discomfort.

People who die from painkiller overdose die from liver death. This means their liver stops functioning. It takes days or weeks, sometimes even months. It is a truly horrible way to die.

Overdose is not the way, unless you have a lot of medical knowledge. Jumping from a bridge or building, 12 stories or more, will always be the quickest and easiest way.

Even if you don't know it, there is a god, and he feels your pain. Don't give up. We only ever do our best in life, and that's all anyone can ask of you.
07 Jul 2006 leah let some1 rape you till you bleed..then go jump of a friend did she haunts me.
07 Jul 2006 steph i used to feel depressed. i was abused as a little girl. i used to cut my wrists and take small overdoses of tablets. my dad beat me up. i didnt have many friends. but i feel better now thanks to this website and people who posted here. if anyone feels suicidal or depressed or has any sort of problem, email me and ill try to help u as much as i can, even if you feel suicide is your only option. my email is i would love to help you. xx
07 Jul 2006 ugly girl FIRST CUT

Here I stand with a carpet knife in my hand, pressing it into my own skin. What happened in me that I’ve been lured to this? What took place in my mind and emotions to bring me to this place? If there was anyone who cared, I might be sitting with them talking about things instead of standing here alone in a dark and cold room. Too many words go in my ear that tell me I don’t matter. It’s come to the point that I don’t even value myself. I guess that’s true... After all, who would slice open their own flesh if they really value themselves.

In my mind, I’ve become very fascinated with this breaking of my own skin and watching it bleed. The pain that hides within me, deep in my gut and tucked far away in my mind bleeds out. It’s a secret pleasure that I lust after as it draws me to itself. Before the blood even dries, I want to cut myself again. What is it that makes me take pleasure in my own pain?

The blood dries and as I enter back into my reality, I feel guilt. What made me go over the edge that very first time that I cut? What was it that made me so desperate that I would cross the line of self-worth? I’d heard one too many degrading remark. I felt the failure just too much to cope. Who would listen to a poor sad girl? Who would even care?

Taking the knife to myself oddly feels like caring for myself in some strange, deranged way. I inflict the injury, while the pain is numbed by my courage. Is it courage, or is it rock hard inner pain. The flesh parts and releases my own blood, and now I can comfort myself. Alone in the world and left to myself. Left to my own morbid little habit. No one sees - no one tells.

I want to stay here. It feels safe here with my pain. Facing those who say they love me brings me tension and trial. I hear voices outside the room. Part of me wants to join them as if this never happened; yet, part of me is drawn to embrace the pain. Embracing pain is much easier than facing the unpredictable life with others.

What could I have done to resist this urge? It was so strong, luring me to itself. It was calling me and begging me to come take a piece of myself. Or was it that I was giving a piece of myself away? To who or what, I don’t know. It is done and now I live with the fear of a temptation that stalks me.

Sharp edges call to me.

Pain awaits me.

Voices haunt me.

My inner voice...

...the loudest


It's dark in the room and the screen shines bright. Nothing to tell. Nothing felt.

Face in my hands. Weariness on my shoulders. Another day fades.

My eyes tight closed still seeing the light. Hands on the keyboard ready to speak.

Pointless ramblings ready to flood from my mind. Holding them back for something more.

Other than shallow chat, what will be revealed through my text? Resolve and release.

Profound thought, You escape me. Tease me and tell me I'm a fool.

Anxious heart, You enslave me. Try me and tempt me to carelessly fail.

Empty mind, You abandon me. Leave me to myself, and show me that I'm frail.

Small talk and empty words, typed as the screen glares pink.

Feeling weary, shallow and alone. Anxious for one thought....

Seemingly left for another day.

I'm leaving empty now.


The cutter in me cries out, "come play".

Her voice is familiar. I hear it every day.

When I'm upset or lonely I hear the call,

but it's heard even with nothing sad at all.

Constantly the cutter in me calls out -

Wanting to engage me in a game.

Who makes the rules? and who sets the score?

Cutter in me lures my affection

as I watch the shards of glass lying on the floor.


Like a motel washcloth lying on the sink,

Taken for granted, used and left to itself.

You hold it under the running water,

Feel it saturate the water - fill itself up with life.

Then, thoughtlessly you take the rag

And twist the life right out of it.

Leave it now. It’s done it’s job.

Walk away.

Like the motel washcloth, used and twisted up.

I get all wound up around myself.

Lying in a twisted up ball with the life

Sucked right out of me.

Once in a while I get filled with life and purpose.

Used by someone to fill their own ego,

And then left twisted and alone.

Shadows of the stain they’ve supposedly erased

At my expense remain hidden in the folds.

Shades of gray hide themselves well -

still a constant reminder of the pain of life.


Addiction has it’s stereo-types. Drugs, alcohol, sex. The addictions that we don’t think about are the ones that are hidden.

A girl comes home late at night to find her parents still awake, sitting on the couch listening to old music. She speaks to them as she walks in the door. Thinking that the music is too loud, she speaks again. No response. She walks through the room, picking up a half empty bottle of beer on her way. No one notices nor cares.

No response is the trigger.

All she wanted was some sort of acknowledgment. Anything will do.

She thinks to herself, “tell me I look fine, tell me I’m a bitch, spit in my face ... anything!”

She felt the trigger - now will she respond.

She’s tired from a long night of dancing and hanging out with friends. Too tired to take the challenge.

She lays back on her pillow in the dark. Thinking. Dreaming with her eyes wide open.

Tears begin to make streams of black down her face.

She reaches under her pillow. It used to be she’d keep a letter from a friend under there.

The letter said nice words and made her feel good about herself.

Now the letter is gone.

She takes the knife and opens it - then opens her flesh.

The trigger was non-response, her response is self-injury.


Cutting provokes response. You pierce your skin and it responds by bleeding. It seems to console you, but it’s empty. You can’t replace personal relationships with an act against yourself. Yes, your skin responds, and you feel. You’re addicted to it, coming back for more. You act out your need in private. Secluded from the world. Alone. You give up and numb yourself to others. Non-responsive to them, you drive your friends away.


It's the blood you cut for... so you say. A release of pain. You open up your own flesh, watching .. waiting to see red, you begin to calm down... Adrenaline pumps through your entire body as the blade makes it's way into your flesh. Nerves are at their peak. Emotions out of control. Is it the blood you cut for? or something much deeper? You've held your pain inside for too long - keeping it bottled up and under control. The silence becomes unbearable and you explode with rage. It's a quiet rage directed to yourself. You take all the hurt and anger on yourself. You inflict it onto your own body, when it should be directed elsewhere. So is it really the blood you crave? Or is it love?.. acceptance... The blood speaks volumes as you watch it flow. It speaks out from you body back into your soul. It reaches out to you in your solitude and pain. The blood is no replacement for human love. It's no replacement for the void in your own heart. You need to be embraced by someone who cares. You need to be loved. You need to receive the love that is being offered to you. Trust someone and begin to feel love again.


2 am again

Darkness my constant companion.

Doesn't matter if it's 2 in the afternoon,

it's still dark in my heart.

Darkness isn't a time of day

or a place.

It's a way of being.

2:30 am

Here I am sitting with you

in front of the screen typing words

that make no difference

to anyone but me.

Thoughts and dreams

go on the page.

2:49 am

I'm drawn to you of late.

I used to fear you and wonder what

lurked within you.

Now you've become an obsession

because I empty out my heart freely.

Humanity sleeps as I type on -

always one word away from hope.

2:52 am

Darkness, my dear companion.

I lie awake in your presence waiting

for you to engulf me.

Is that so bad I ask?

Dwelling in the shadows,

Waking in the night,

Finding comfort in the solitude.

3 am again

Here I am, dear friend.

Spending time with you in the stillness.

It's dark in my heart but not so cold.

Coldness isn't a climate

or a place.

It's a season of the heart.

Self Portrait

Worn and weary - weathered by the storm.

What life has brought you through has made you strong.

Eyes are vivid - they've seen many changes.

Changes have taught these eyes a determined focus.

Forehead maps out the concerns of the past.

Rutted reminders of yesterdays pain and tomorrow's trials.

Lips that aren't too worse for wear, staying silent.

Keeping guard, remembering not to unleash themselves.

Scar on chin from earlier days; stitches trace a small path.

An unexpected trip down a flight of cement stairs.

Hair frames the face with the mussed look of a day gone by.

The day filled with it's share of struggles.

If the eyes are the window of the soul -

What do these eyes say today?

Look deep and long. See into the soul of a person

Waiting in the shadows.

Eyes longing for release and anticipating relent.

Eyes of the soul tell no lies.


It's not just about cutting -

It's about wanting to be loved,

It's about wishing to not be alone,

It's about feeling needed

And feeling wanted by someone -


It's not just about cutting -

It's about scars that go deep,

It's about scars that last a lifetime.

It's about pain that never heals.

Not about cutting -

Not about addiction.

Not about crying,

Not about self-harm.

It's all about emotion

That has never been soothed.

It's all about wanting

Someone to care.

It's all about knowing

You mean something to someone.

It's all about realizing

You may be worth something.

Cutting -

or burning -

or drug overdose.

It's all because of the

Condition of a heart

That's crying out loud.

A heart

Feeling pain deep inside.

A heart

Lost in a world of hate and abuse.

A heart

Longing for real love.

A heart



I know you hurt. You feel alone in the world without one friend... not one person beside you. No one has spoken the words you need to hear that will stop you cold in your tracks. No one has said what it takes to make you feel and give you hope.

If you could write the script, what would they say? What are the words you long to hear? How would the scene change?

Show me what it is that I need to do...what are the words that I need to say.

"Everything’s going to be okay". Those are the words that consoled you in your childhood years. You trusted them to be true then. But things got harder and people got crueler. The hurt got deeper and the pit got darker. Now "everything’s going to be okay" seems to good to be real. It echos in your mind, seeming like a fantasy, stabbing at your aching heart.

You’re holding on to your pain.

You hold on tight because it’s what you’ve grown comfortable with. The pain you say you want to end is what you lean on. You’ve swallowed all the ridicule and hate, internalizing the pain. You’ve kept the emptiness locked up until it’s become a part of you.

Now I see you at the end of your rope. You look quite desperate for an answer. The tears have been shed, and your heart has bled. You stand shaking and weak, quite fragile from it all. PLEASE LET GO. I ask you as a friend who's been there myself. I see you and it feels like I’m looking in the mirror at myself.

You have to trust someone. You have to believe me when I say you need to let go. You have such a tight grip on your pain that your knuckles are white. Please let go. Release it and find healing.

You’re afraid to let go. You feel secure having the pain tucked deep inside you, kept hidden and secure. Let it come spilling out. You need to trust someone to be there for you when you’re all undone, someone who will stand by you and be there even in the ugliness. You have to trust again.

It’s for no one but you. You have focused on your pain so much that you drove friends away. Your pain has consumed you. Holding on tight, your arms aren’t free to reach out to anyone else. Having such a grip on your own pain, your hands aren’t open to give and receive from another. Please let go. The fears you’ve felt are only lies. Try and trust just one person, even just a little bit. Take a tiny step for now.. Another tomorrow.

Don’t look back.


Standing in the crowd of hundreds,

Music blasting, lights blinding.

A band takes the stage with fists in the air.

Bands around their wrists and tattooed arms.

Sweat runs free as the mosh pit grows.

Frenzied freaks kick up the dust ,

As grinding guitars call out.

The band chugs water between songs,

Spits into the crowd, and shouts.

A girl steps into the bathroom to

Get away from it all.

Hurting from another bad relationship.

Closes herself off from the world,

She takes the blade to her skin again.

The band plays on and the mosh pit swirls.

The hour is late but the crowd keeps up.

A girl steps out of the bathroom with

Fresh bands around her wrists.

Blends into the crowd and raises her fists

To the band,

With bands around their wrists.


That voice inside your head. What do you think it is?! It's your Jimminy Cricket ... your conscience. Your soul. What you hear it say may be a seed from the enemy trying to tell you a lie. How do you tell a lie from the real true voice within you?? I want to say it's simple - how does the voice make you feel? Crappy? Good? Encouraged? Like committing suicide??

I know it's not that simple though. Darkness engulfs the best of us, with a cloud of doubt and delusion. We think the voice we hear is right... we know it comes from the light. But satan himself came as an "angel of light".. so how can we tell? We stand in the center of a pitch black room wanting to step out and take action on the word we hear in our head. It's telling us to move; we put one foot in front of the other. We test our footing, sure to fall.

We take another step, and the darkness grows a little less dark. Shades of gray appear. hmmm... the voice must be truth. We move on, and light begins to grow, encouraging us onward.

But what if it were not that way? What if we take those first two steps and nothing at all happens. Still pitch dark, still frightening and cold. Do we stop still and freeze? Do we retreat? Do we turn and run?

Life is full of advances and defeats. The key is that we never forfeit. To forfeit is to give in without a fight. No one gains anything by laying down and dying.


When the scales fall off my eyes

And reveal the crystal clarity of sight unseen.

Then it's the moment I fully realize

How unattached to the truth I've really been.

All along I thought I knew

What was real and what was true.

All the while I had a view

That I was whole - did I fool you?

Then the scales fell off my eyes

And I was forced to face myself laid bare.

That's the day I could've realized

There was hope - but instead I chose despair.


There's so many people around that have numbed themselves to the outside world. The pain is so deep, it's so pushed down... it's still there inside. They push it far down, and deny it's even there. If they convince themselves that they don't feel, then they won't hurt. If they don't feel, they don't experience happiness either. They throw out the joy with the sadness, all because they don't want to feel.

You watch as "friends" slight you and turn their backs. You walk away saying, "whatever", convincing yourself that it's no big deal. No feelings at all. You talk yourself into feeling nothing. You duck into the restroom and dig for a blade. You can't find a blade so you take out a lighter and burn your skin. You've just lied to yourself. You do want to feel. It really did hurt you that your friends turned their backs. Now you resort to a lighter to make you feel. An inanimate object that won't call you names. One that you control. You make it hurt as much ...or as little as you want.

You're dying to feel. Emotional pain is too hard, so you go for your wrists. Feel the pain in your loneliness. You've forgotten that your need to feel is a need to be loved. A blade or lighter can't affirm your value or give you love. You say your blade is your friend, but your blade can't talk back when you need encouragement. You need another human being to respond to you with love and kindness. You need to feel the gentleness of another person reaching out to help.

by reading some peoples storys some of you people were never ment to be!
Including me!!!
If you dont fit in or have anyone people why are you still alive??
i think we are better off dead!
I will end up killing my self soon cause no one cares!
When you are ugly noone gives a shit!
i never have liked this world anyway!
I had friends when i was younger all turned there back on me as i got older I stuck by people when they had a hard time now there all being mean to me!
I thought i had friends now i know i have not got them i am going to kill myself soon away from this planet theres no hope of me moving away.

bye nasty world
07 Jul 2006 chris watts get a 150 watt bulb and but it between ur teeth and sick ur finger in an electrical socket to see if u can light it
06 Jul 2006 ryan a letter from my best friend and lover,

To Everyone,

Some of you are probably wondering why I ended my life, some of you are probably angry at me, and some of you probably don't care. I think it's pretentious to write a suicide note, but it seems to be the thing to do. I don't possess the literary ability or vocabulary to adequately express the pain and hurt I feel inside and have felt for many many years -- this letter will just scratch the surface.

I woke up in a motel room in Moscow Idaho about two months ago with the realization that my life had strayed very far from how I always imagined it would be and that I didn't know how to correct it. I'm not exactly sure how I came to this point but I'm sure that it happened very slowly over a long period of time such that I didn't notice the changes.

I've thought of suicide and various points in my life since I was 15. My experiences in high school left me deeply scarred. I came away from those years feeling fundamentally broken and not good enough. I always thought I could shake those feelings in adulthood, and have learned various techniques to distract myself from them, but they still haunt me. As much as I've tried to rid myself of certain feelings I can't shake the idea that I'm not good enough and that I am unlovable.

I have never liked myself. When I look at myself in the mirror I see only flaws. When I am out in public, I compare myself to everyone I see and never measure up. I feel completely and totally crippled by my insecurities. Why would anyone ever want to love me when I can't even love myself?

In the last month and a half, I've woken up every morning and cried. I cry partly because I wake up at all and partly because I am in so much emotional pain. When I've thought of suicide in the past it has been more of a passing thought -- just an option. Two months ago I began to think about it again but more seriously. I spent a month searching for a reason to stay alive, watching people, traveling, thinking, trying to distract myself. I couldn't find a good reason and began to feel like more of an outsider as I watched happy people going about their happy lives. I spent the next month planning the details of my suicide while trying to appear as normal as possible. I simply began to disengage from life.

I have always been a stupidly optimistic person. I have always believed that people are fundamentally good at heart. I've always believed that love could heal me. I've always believed that I would find the "one" that I would spend the rest of my life with. The last few years have treated me to a series of incredibly painful experiences and disappointments with a few moments of pure joy in the middle. As I look back on those years I realize that I have only myself to blame. I am the only one responsible for my life and for my actions. The optimism I always held onto so proudly no longer exists within me. I feel like I have failed at so many things lately.
My first grade teacher once told my mother that I was the most creative child she had ever seen. Remembering that comment makes me smile and then makes me sad. I've used it as a measure of my life and feel like I've failed that teacher and myself. At one point I possessed a creativity that has been all but destroyed by my own insecurities and self-doubt. I used to believe that the creativity would return if I conquered those demons, but I'm now 32 and am haunted by the same things as when I was 22. I am a decade older and have very little to show for it.

I am incredibly sorry for any pain that I've caused anyone because of this. Not wanting to hurt my family and friends has kept me alive for a long time, but my pain has become unbearable. Please know that I have finally found the peace that I've been searching for for 17 years.

I am grateful for everyone who has been part of my life. Notwithstanding the pain, I've
had a pretty good life. I've met incredible people, I've fallen in love, and I've traveled
the world.



May he rest in peace!
06 Jul 2006 Kym have someone blind you with their headlights in the middle of the night, and then let them run you over and you wont even see it happen. =D
06 Jul 2006 Matthew Mclean aka Billy the Freak monday morning went off with out a hitch. routine pencil pushing and paper grinding. not a speck of work has left my desk. my desk found adjacent to the break area has me overhearing every bit of idle chit chat . i am hardly amused by the other flunky's exploits over the weekend. their conversation is as flavorless as the coffee they slurp into thier gullets. i don't care what the mamma from the cosmetology school got, or what position she got it in. fuck your trip to maryland... they move and shake out motions to acompany the stories. what the shit! now my chills are in full swing, and god does my back hurt.
"shut the hell up!" i scream across the divider. " i am trying to work here!"
mostly from weakness my body drops, naturally thinking my chair was below me, ( it must had pushed away when i stood up) i gave no effort to stop myself from falling to my ass and busting my head on the armrest of my chair. the pain, along with the dope sick was unbareable. now the jackasses are laughing hysterically, staggering to my feet i storm past the bastards.
" you work too hard." one coffee breath office jockey called out to me."you're obviously stressed out."
i have no clue why i turned around.
"go on vacation." he stammered between a chuckle; folgers crystals about to erupt from his nose.
"take a trip... tee hee... i'll see you in the fall"
the right ignorant cunt- i mean stupid ignorant. a 'fuck you' was all i could muster in a breath as i escaped the ill situation that had me the butt of a lame joke. i could bear the jones no longer.
i exited the cavernous office space into the hall where two bubbley cosmo girls (the marketing firm i slave for shares a floor with a beauty school.) engaged in conversation outside the rest rooms. sweat dripped from my brow, i know i looked to fuck. i couldn't care less, not like it's my lucky day. i haven't had an erection in weeks. no cosmo girl spread eagle could sooth my angst. i nod as i pass and enter the men's room.
i rummage through my pockets to find my old camel cigarette flask. once in hand i gave it a reassuring shake. bliss. in one steady movement i had the final stall door open and locked behind me. the flask ajar and resting on my knee as i sit on the john. my eyes scrutinize the contents of the treasure chest before me. at the top of the list: three wax paper packets of fine brown heroin, a lighter, a small tablespoon sized measuring spoon, cotton balls, and a fresh rig procured from my diabetic aunt. in the ritualistic motions that follow i am cooked up, tied off, and riding the mellow wave to pleasantville, all in under ten minutes. i normally don't panic like that. my mind was playing tricks. my body didn't need the dope. this is not going to be an o.d. situation. can barely breath. i'm so hot. not this. i jump up and dunk my head in the toilet in desperate attemps to cool down. i continue to splash my face, getting weaker... eyes blurring out of focus. i can't breath. everything fades to a light grey then progressively turns to black.
05 Jul 2006 Cindy Well i started to cut myself when i was young, because of family issues and whatnot. I tried suicide but i promised my friends i wouldn't cut anymore. Now i have a promise with my best friend, and she is honestly my rock and my strength, and without her i would not be here today. I honestly couldn't have made it through without knowing she was there and she cares for me. Anybody thinking about suicide just find somebody who will listen to you and be there for you. I know that sounds pretty lame considering its easier said than done but if you need to email me.
05 Jul 2006 anna Hello everyone,

i am here 2 help. anyone who has come on this site, well, i would guess is in need of some help or support, and i will be here 4 u if u need it.

okay, well this is my story...

i was sexually abused by my own brother. yes thats right, my own brother! i didnt understand it at first, because i was too young when it first started, but after 3 years of the abuse, i was old enough to realise that it wasnt right. it took me ages to build up the courage to speak out. i didnt think anyone would believe me. im not going to lie and say it was easy. in fact it was one of the hardest things i have ever done. but it was the right thing to do. so eventually i built up the courage, ignored his threats, and i spoke out. THE ABUSE EVENTUALLY STOPPED!

the abuse then lead to depression, self harm, suicide attempts, chronic insomnia, eating disorders etc.

but the thing is, i have been there done that, and i have come out the other side! there is light at the end of the tunnel and although the tunnel may be very very long, every single one of you can and YOU will get through whatever hard times you are going through at the moment.

i am happy to talk if you want. here 4 you x

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