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

Nom/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?
17 Jan 2005 my name is annie I AM SUCH A LOSR. I CANT EVEN KILL MYSELF SO I GO ON THE INTERNET LOOKING FOR WAYS TO DO IT. I FOUND THIS SITE. LOOKS PRETTY PATHETIC TOO. I TRIED ALL OF THE PILLS AND SLITTIN MY WRISTS. I GUESS I WILL JUST TELL ALL OF YOU THAT I AM TOTALY BULLSHITTING YOU AND I AM NOT SUICIDAL AND I JUST WANT TO GET SEX. I AM A NYMPHO. AND I HAVE AQUIRED IMMUNE DIFFENCINCY SYNDROME. SO IF ANYONE OUT THERE IS SUICIDAL YOU SHOULD WRITE ME AN EMAIL. I AM 15.
17 Jan 2005 Tahlia hangoff bunkbed by school belt
17 Jan 2005 Lucy Cortina Alert! Alert! My secret bra collection has been stolen! After checking the top-secret nuclear Bra Bunker where agent Danny stashed them, I discovered that they have all been pilfered. Now that is surely [cryogenic] grave-robbing at its sexiest? Perhaps they imagined that Lucy Cortina, moi, was an Egyptian Queen-turned-goddess and that my bras were special. Yes that will be it.
Agent Danny had hidden them before I was frozen so that the mad Dr Philville wouldn't find them and sell them to Mouchette. But I fear that Mouchette did some detective work and discovered them all by himself. Mouchette is now number one suspect in this case...

I do know the location of the Inflatable variety - darling Felicia borrowed them in a fit of lesbianism - but the leather, PVC, silk, gold, strapless, frontless and frillyness varieties have all gone. There was a dirty looking white bra in the bunker but such a bra wouldn't be seen on my boobs even if they were dead (which isn't that unlikely).

WHO STOLE THEM??? I need them to be found ASAP. There were many sizes of bras to fulfill the needs of my very demanding boobs, but now with the recently diagnosed BreastInflating illness that I have, normal bras can no longer contain them (as if they did before). I do hope this mystery will be solved soon, otherwise I will have to file a Boobsuit against Mouchette. It really is le grand mystére de les pantaloons...

*Note: I speak in French every now and then only to satisfy my French Fans*
17 Jan 2005 Jeannot 17-01-2005 09:00

Bonjour

J' ai laissé courir ma plume cette nuit... voici le résultat, avec les fautes.

Il faut déja commencer par s'informer!

Un des bouquins de référence —en français— reste "Suicide mode d'emploi" de Guillon et Le Bonniec (1982). Régulièrement en vente sur "Ebay" (Cher, 200 à 400 EUR selon les périodes). Faire une recherche par mots clé ("suicide mode" par ex.). Actuellement il se vend sur Ebay.ch (Suisse) parfois c'est en Belgique ou au Canada. Reste encore "Exit Final" (écrit dans cet ordre et donc en français) moins cher mais moins "complet " et beaucoup plus difficile à dénicher.

En ce qui concerne l'enfant ... et qui plus est, de moins de 13 ans, il faudrait savoir si le mot "suicide" recouvre une réalité à cette age là (le désir d' arrêter sa vie me semble plus une réflexion '"adulte") !! Dans des cas de souffrance extrême (quelle qu'elle soit), comme par exemple dans des situations où le gamin est confronté au déni (de lui même, de son corps, de ses émotions, particularités, désirs et de ses besoins).
Il commencera par fuguer, (fuir ce qui le fait souffrir) et tentera ensuite d'exister aux yeux des autres par des actions que l'on rencontre chaque jour: il va commencer à faire ce que tout le monde appelle des "conneries". Piquer du fric à ses parents (désir d'autonomie), prises de bec (de preférence à table) car gueuler est une bonne façon d'obliger l'autre (pére, mère voire éducateur) à reconnaitre qu'il tient une place... à la sainte table.
Les petits vols (il/elle fouillera d'abord les poches de ses parents avant de piquer du maquillage ou un blouson au supermarché) et si ça ne "marche" pas, ou si la répression est trop douloureuse, il/elle évitera l'impossible et tentera d'exister auprès d'autres (fringues, coiffure -skinhead ?-, moto(?) actions d'éclat (en groupe) recherche d'une autorité, d'un chef, d'un guide ou d'un Führer!
Mais si la répression survient plus tôt et beaucoup plus fort (coups), il se "dissoluera" jusqu'à ne plus exister... pour se faire "oublier"... Combien d'entr'eux trainent dans les services dits "spécialisés", combien préfèrent "etre malade"? Le statut de "malade" n'est il pas une reconnaissance sociale ? Combien ont trop mal pour rester dans notre monde? Alcool ou "colle" (question de sous!), shit, coke facilitent en permettant à certains de rester quand même parmi le genre humain.
Et si "pas de chance" reste encore le choix... à l'Être détruit ! Arrêter sa vie "CAR"... (encore faut-il qu'il puisse encore se le dire ce mo(r)t là!) ... CAR-ma vie, où que j'aille et quoi que je fasse ne peut être que larmes froid et douleur, et parce que JE SAIS qu'il n'est pas un ailleurs, un autre ou un temps qui me soit perceptible, où mon corps pourrait VIVRE, frémir ou chanter, je dois donc, et en conséquence, décider de l'arrêter.
À 11, 12 ou 13 ans, combien ont la maturité pour décider de leur "suicide" posé en ces termes ?

On n'a pas attendu qu' un génial inventeur nous propose un —quit (!!)—Kit prêt à l'emploi pour jouer à mourir! Je me souviens encore de ces parties où l'on jouait "aux gendarmes et aux voleurs", et "aux Cow-boys et aux Indiens" où l'on mourait —surtout les indiens !— 1 minute tout au plus tellement ces jeux nous excitaient. Prestige du plus fort ou désir de mourir ?
Je me souviens aussi —bien plus tard, je devais êtrre en CM 2— du prestige dont jouïssait celui qui nous enseigna une méthode —infaillible— pour presque mourir (on provoquait une syncope chez le petit copain) Entrainement au suicide ou soif de découvrir (voire de puissance)... ce qu'il pouvait bien y avoir derrière cette porte que les grands nommaient "être conscient" et dont personne ne nous parlait ?
Je revois ces gamins, je les vois tous les jours (de moins de 13 ans, pour sûr !), très proches—jusqu' à la tutoyer— d' une mort toujours possible, sachant que ce matin ... la chimio ... et qui le lendemain —pas aujourd' hui mais tant pis— rigoleraient à nouveau de Michèle —Surveillante au grand coeur— dans des jeux moins méchants qu' imbéciles, dont le secret consiste ... à RIRE en se fichant de sa poire à la faire tourner en bourrique, et nous prenant à témoin —nous qui savons les "guérir"— en espérant nous voir rire et partager leur bonnheur —on a oublié—ils se contentent d' un sourire ...
Pas un n'a VOULU mourir ... "qu' est ce que t'es barbant", c'est toujours ce qu'il disent, quand "Jeannot-lapin" —moi, mais pourquoi un lapin ?— quand j'essaie malgré tout de leur parler de "s'endormir" .
Je me plante à chaque fois. Et assis sur son lit prévu pour un géant je me retrouve comme un con en entendant son rire tout au bout du couloir ... je me surprends à douter, je revois le dossier ne comprenant pas pourquoi l'impossible se produit. On refait les derniers "examens" et je m'en veux. ......je me surprends à siffloter certain du savon que je vais leur passer ... pour s'être à ce point planté! Je jubile presque, il y en a une que j'ai vraiment dans le nez !
Quelques heures plus tard —ils m'ont fait poireauter les salauds, —j'en suis sûr— pour bouziller mon samedi ... je n'ai pas vu le temps passer —c'est le silence qui me réveille ... le jour commence à tomber ...c'est Michèle qui se pointe—moi: tu étais d'astreinte ? ELLE veut te voir... pas la peine de me dire qui, c'est ma préférée... je frappe et j'entre... elle a le sourire ... ça me rassure... je m'asseois au pied de son lit .... Alors, la miss, qu'est ce tu me veux ?.......elle me tire par le col de ma blouse et me dit au creux de l'oreille "je sais que c'est aujourd' hui, je voudrait bien que tu me fasse un bisou parce que je vais bientôt partir ... et puis tu m'as jamais fait de bisous...... tu sais je t'aime encore plus que papa .... je veux la rassurer, lui dire que sa chimio l'a déja fait déprimer, qu'on m'aurait prévenu, et que , et que....... ses yeux m'arretent: ils me disent ce que je n'aurait jamais voulu voir... je les connais bien ses yeux ........ quand elle est entrée dans le service, il y a à peu près 6 mois, c'était la première fois que je voyais des yeux pareils: une lueur de malice qui ne s'éteignait que pendant son sommeil. Sitôt réveillée tout le monde se demandait ce qu' elle allait encore inventer pour foutre le boxon dans le service. Michèle la craignait. je n'ai jamais bien compris ce qui pouvait bien se jouer entre ces 2 bonne femmes... 40 ans les séparaient, sûrement pas un problème de concurence! Michèle avait le mème age que sa grand-mère ... elle s'est assise sur mes genoux, a passé ses petites mains autour de mon cou et s'est blottie contre moi, son visage contre mon cou. Je lui ai donné des dizaines de petits baisers sur ses cheveux. Je sentais sa respiration s'apaiser et elle a poussé un petit grognement de plaisir. Elle était Heureuse... j'ai du rester un bon moment comme ça; je m'engourdissais tout en sentant les petites mains s'accrocher derrière ma nuque. C'est son hoquet qui m'a fait sursauter.

Sonia est morte dans mes bras, ce Samedi, à 17 H 32. Leucémie. Elle avait 11 ans et demi.

Je pleurai en sortant de sa chambre. Michèle et une aide soignante attendaient derrière la porte. les chariots habituels attendaient, eux aussi.
Elle n'a jamais émis la moindre plainte, n'a jamais demandé qu' on augmente ses antalgiques. Pourtant tout le monde savait ce qu'une gamine de 11 ans pouvait vivre avec sa chimio. Je l'ai vue plus d'une fois dégueuler ses tripes dans le couloir ou au réfectoire. Mais l'important, pour elle, c'était de penser à toute les conneries qu'elle allait pouvoir faire ...... Demain!
Sa grand mère viendra demain dimanche. Ses parents étaient à Acapulco. En 6 mois , ils son venus voir Sonia 1 fois ..... entre 2 avions. Michèle m'a téléphoné ce midi. Tous ses petits copains on voulu la voir pour lui dire au revoir. Ils lui ont même chanté une chanson avec Michèle. Elle m'a également dit que Sonia était vraiment très belle. Aussi belle qu' avant ... quand elle dormait. Elle va beaucoup me manquer.

Jeannot
17 Jan 2005 Still Dreaming One day I will wake up. I will know today is the day I do it. I will sit staring out the window into nothingness all day, waiting for one reason to live to come to me. No reason will come, there is none. No one will visit, I have no acquaintances, no one will call, no one is that interested in me. All day I will see the world in nothing but greens and blues. On a warm summer night as it nears 12 o’clock my red blood will splash against the cold toned universe and be forgotten.

Soon my body will be as cold as the glass of the window I sit in front of all day, wishing I was free of my life.
17 Jan 2005 The snuffalufagus that typed I could turn off my light, put some pillows under the covers, and head down to the basement. It would be so easy, what is stopping me? I could make a short little stop in the kitchen and pick up a couple of the sharp meat knifes we keep there. They are sharp, and the pain would be much numbed, as the knife sliced through the tender flesh of my throat. I am drunk and it would be easy, what is stopping me? No school tomorrow. I am not expected to wake up until around noon, the parents would not be worried till about two, they would not be frantic until about three. It 11:23 PM right now, I am sure that is enough time to die. What is stopping me? That must be a enough time to die, 15 hours with a cut throat. And I really just might.

The sky is red and I can't sleep, restless to move as I see the sky foreshadowing the apocalypse. And "Why kill time when you can kill yourself" to snatch a few words from the Cabaret Voltaire. What is stopping me, why not?

I see myself sitting in that pool of dark blood on the gray stone floor. I used to sneak down there to smoke marijuana, now I am doing it to die. Why not? Why the fuck not?
16 Jan 2005 sophia je pense que la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans (et j ai 13 ans!!) c de prendre pleins de médicaments, ou alors davaler du platre ou mm de sauter par la fenetre. prck si on veut mourir, autant le faire sans souffrir, surtout si on a moins de 13 ans.
16 Jan 2005 The Soul Collector take an ice pick and gab it in your eye all the way. this will send your body flailing into convulsions and make you parylized. you die instantly if the ice pick goes in your brain deep enough, you need about 15 cm penetration.
16 Jan 2005 josh e wash e the best way depends on how bad you wanna die. real bad just break your neck with your hands by grabbing the bottom of your chin and the top of your fore head when tilting your head to the side. now twist your head until it cant go any more. now use all your might to twist your head off in one motion. good nite.
16 Jan 2005 i ate the big piece sentry benty kintry.
lifty wity city.
i woft the fumes to my nostrils.
i inhale the fumes in my lungs.
the fumes burn my lungs.
and....
i die.
good bye.
16 Jan 2005 luna luna damnit mouchette why wont you post my posts. hey everyone check out ihatemouchette.com
we all hate you mouchette. religious maggie is cool. we all love you religious maggie. i want to cum to your church and see the altar dripping get sprayed all over the candles and the congregation. i want to sit up front so i can get washed away in a river of old man jizz and miss maggies douche with a floral scent. yea !!! i want to float in a river of old man jizz and floral scented douche
15 Jan 2005 ...[merinda] ... For some strange reason, here again i am, reading the responses of other people to...well whatever they felt like writing, and i ask myself, why? but isnt that the eternal question everyone's asking. nothing changes, never does, and i dont think it ever will. i keep telling myself to wait, but ive almost given up waiting. waiting doesnt do anything but prolong the agony of life. every day's a stuggle in itself, and i hate people criticising depressed people who wish to end their own life. can you believe its a crimial offense to kill yourself? they consider it murder, and if you attempt and fail, you can be prosecuted. What is happening to society these days? There really is nothing to live for.
15 Jan 2005 Rev. Poosy Blessings. Well, holy communion has been cancelled this Sunday folks because of a shortage of Holy Wafers. They are special ones you know. They only fit small Holy Holes. And if they are any larger they would get stuck im afraid. People would be straining.............+
15 Jan 2005 Doink The Brown Hey whipping boy, what you gotta do is stop believing in that dumb ass God of yours that doesn't exist. One reason you experience so much pain is because you seem to believe that when you asked God something, he actually answered.

You have to stop sounding like such a whiney bitch. So you think you're a victim eh? Well lah dee dah, look at poor whipping boy, he's had it worse than everyone else in the world. Let us all look and marvel at the pain he has gone through. Oh why was God so mean to him? Why God? WHY!?!!?!!??

However bad you think you have it, millions have it a million times worse..... but it doesn't matter. It's not a contest of who has had it the worst. The point is, stop believing in your stupid non existent God and stop thinking of yourself as a victim. You're not a victim. You are lucky to have had your friends and your bizach wife in the first place.
15 Jan 2005 You dont need it You jump into a pit of electried barbed-wire until your uncontrollable muscles spasms slowely cause your flesh to be ripped apart, thus eventually causing you to die in one of the most painfull and certain suicides of the time.
15 Jan 2005 ben aflecks do you read in the paper about the guy who was a bus driver and commited suicide by driving off a cliff with 300 people on board? when i heard about this i thought to myself how the hell do you get 300 people on a bus?
14 Jan 2005 alice jones i want to kill myself by slitting my wrists and putting a plastic bag over my head. i hasve no friends. my life means nothing. if you're interested in a ritual suicide please contact me.
14 Jan 2005 I WANT TO DIEEEE I havent tried to kill myself yet...
But I have seriously thought about it for 10 years.. Im friggin 15 years old..

Okay this is my life..
I grew up into a wife beater/child abuser/druggie family.. The first couple years of my life I was with my grandparents which wasnt bad, but it was because my sister was in the hospital dying.. My mom couldn't be with me nor my brother.. so we basically didnt have a mother until we were 3-4 years old.. thats when the hell started happening.. My child abuser of a father and psychotic mother took us from our grandparents and we lived in many different apartments and going from place to place.. we eventually ended up back at my grandparents house with my mother and father.. while witnessing some abuse and being hit everyday.. the emotional abuse was worse.. and when I was 5 years old me and my siblings were taken away, and for a week we were at my cousins house.. and because I was scared to sleep with my cousin in her room my uncle beat me up.. great vacation from mom and dad..

We were returned to our parents in a week and a week later we were taken away (once again) each time being traumatized, while these big police officers are taking us out of the arms of our grandparents.. in 2 days we were back with our horrid parents..

when I was 6 we moved out of our grandparents house and moved into a new house ( where all there was were low class mexicans, that went "ouchi ouchi" or something like that when we rode our bikes passed the houses in the neighborhood.. it was a dump), we got a dog and everything was going better..
My fathers abuse though got worse.. everyday we would hear fuckers,cunts, etc use ur imagination.. and we'd get hit horribly and my mom when he was beating her I would go in front of her and say dont hit my mommy.. he'd throw me into the wall.. ohh well.. I got a cat for christmas.. and in the spring our dog was ran over by a car.. we got 2 more dogs .. the 1 dog ate my cat.. the only friend I had ever known and my dad just kept on hitting me..
I remeber going to school with a big bruises on my face and the teacher asking me why I had so many bruises,
I had to lie.. knowing that life would only get worse if I was taken away..

So I got fat from my cat dying .. from the depression.. I ate because that replaced the feelings and food became my new friend..

I got teased.. soooooooooooooooooooooo bad.. never had 1 friend.. and I was literally beaten up at school and tortured.. and when I got home I got it from my parents..

I remember on christmas my dad gave me a black eye and broke my nose.. aww.. great present..

I lost all my fat because I became an anorexic/bulimic and quit school..
I had no friends and no life..
I over dosed on pills a couple times .. diet pills that is .. and I had to go to the hospital to get my stomach pumped..

my dog died ( the 1 from the 2 that we got) and later on the next year my grandpa went into the hospital and our house burnt down.. and our other remaining dog killed our puppy that we got 2-3 years previous.. when they were in the hotels..

My cats had kittens .. when we were in those lovely (yeah right.. okay the rat traps of hotels)and most of them died when I tried so hard to keep them alive.. my grandpa was literally dying in the hospital for about 5 months at this point and we finally got a new house..

I personally felt like killing myself.. I had lost everything that mattered to me.. and I was losing the only father I had ever known.

a couple months passed by and my grandpa was starting to get better.. then due to neglence of the doctors they killed him off..

I was ready to slit my wrists right there.. I over dosed on pills 2 more times and I lost it

I mourned and stayed in my room for months and I didnt go to school again.. and now my dad still hits me and abuses me almost every day.. my mother emotionally abuses me and wants to make every1 hate me.. and I finally met a guy I liked and he liked me back.. and we talked about everything.. but suddenly he started acting different.. and now he's treating me like shit..

and now I just cant take anything anymore.. I just want to die.. and nothing is working to kill myself off..
Im too sad about everything..

The world would be better off without me and Im just another mouth to feed and to abuse .. so if anyone has any tips to kill yourself off with please share!!!! :(
13 Jan 2005 Geena Well let's see. . . you could always just take a dog leash, wrap it around your neck, throw a ball down the street, and have the dog drag you until you choke or get so many cuts you loose all of your blood.
13 Jan 2005 trowa pick a fight with a retarded kid in a public place.

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