|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.|
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?
|10 Feb 2003||A Ridiculous Man||Eclipse 0 ~Round the globe the train of dust/ round the globe the dust of mirages/ the shadow on the globe turns black/ the globe in the shadows of lost days./ The emerald sky has stretched out/ over the planet of maddened shadows/ towers have thrust their voice into the heavens/ and exploded within a chaos of decline./ The chain swings on the wall/ as a pendulum of an antique clock/ and i cry here in my mad fire/ of voices half-sane as the day. [ump] ~In the humpbacked Arbat streets/ an alien man got lost/ much seems to him to be strange/ in the noisy autumn peoplessness./ The street lamps and shop windows in a torrent/ of rusty light splash in the dark/ and the windows of peoople's thoughts, of beasts/ look at the autumn night./ Noisy crowds rush past/ in the howling of the cold wind/ and the desert of the autumn peoplessness/ is bloodsucked with the hubbub of greed./ In the humpbacked backstreets of the Arbat/ an alien man got lost/ he is like a beast captive in a bestiary/ and does not find the way out of the cage./ On the gloomy horizon of the cell/ no hope of the star's shining/ only a sun yellow like sardines/ and the dull waiting... when?/ Waiting surrounded the cell/ like a ghost of dead minutes/ it's those years of pains and distances/ i sleep in delerium i awake in delerium./ On the gloomy horizon of the cell/ no hope of the stars leaving a trail/ unhappiness menacingly rules in the walls/ with a station change for the other world or this world./ This cell- the delirium of my fantasy/ if i am a ghost among people/ this cell is a door to the expanse of the End/ the voices and wishes of the people. [unknown mental patient]|
|10 Feb 2003||Ichabod Doldrumsky||Eclipse 3 [ADROIT IDIOT] ...i will take Legos and slam them into my body. Very, very repeatedly. Very, very... ineffectually. So it may make just as much sense as what most americans do with the day. i will draw up a conventional plan. i will wall up myself every day, say 2 Legos, for instance. Then i will set fire to everything. It will burn for a time. It will burn for 13 minutes. Only the Legos will remain, all melted together and ebonized... And so i shall remain. So i shall survive... or at least as an imitation on the order of actual-survival. ~Sorry i left CA so prematurely. i really needed to finish up 'The Limits of Vision'. Honestly, i also really needed to talk with you... yet, sensing myself as having nothing worth saying, and lacking the strength to go through with proving it... left no room for the Splendor which still feels so inclined to await.|
|09 Feb 2003||swallow razorblades, watch yourself bleed. take pictures, send 'em to me.|
|08 Feb 2003||nosaM legnA||SYMPARANECROMENIAN CATASTROPHES. VOL.5
A thinker erects an immense building, a system, a system which embraces the whole of existence and world history... and if we contemplate her personal life, we discover this terrible and ludicrous fact, that she herself personally does not live in this immense high-vaulted palace, but in a barn alongside of it, or in a toolshed... or at the most in the porter's lodge. If one were to take the liberty of calling her attention to this by a single word, she would be offended. For she has no fear of being under a delusion, if only she can get the system completed... by means of the delusion. ~Nicolaus Notabean
|08 Feb 2003||bubba||listen to modern day rolling stones. The time it takes u to find the urge to take your own live depends on your personality.|
|07 Feb 2003||~~Tootles~~||Eat 105 pies and then run 8 blocks. by the time you get done with 4 you should have already had a heart attack. if not keep running|
|06 Feb 2003||thorsten||there's nothing complicated! just having petrole, not hard to find in the car of daddy, then you switch on your lighter It's very the best way!|
|06 Feb 2003||Anti Climaxicus||Imagine a country. A royal command is issued to all the office-bearers and subjects, in short, to the entire population. An unutterably remarkable change comes over them all: they all become interpreters, the office-bearers become authors, every blessed day there comes out an interpretation more learned than the last, more acute, more elegant, more profound, more ingenious, more wonderful, more endearing, and more wonderfully endearing. HelloKelly. Criticism which ought to survey the whole can hardly attain survey of this prodigious literature, indeed criticism itself has become a literature so prolix that is impossible to attain a survey of the criticism. Everything became interpretation... but no one read the royal command with a view to acting in accordance with it. And it was not only that everything became interpretation, but at the same time the point of view for determining what seriousness is was altered, and to be busy about interpretation became real seriousness. Suppose that the Queen was not a human Queen- for the human Queen would understand well enough that they were making a fool of Her by giving the affair this turn, yet as a human Queen She is dependent, especially when She encounters the united front of office-bearers and subjects, and so would be compelled to put the best face upon a bad game, to let seem as if all this were a matter of course, so that the most elegant interpreter would be rewarded by elevation to the peerage, the most acute would be knighted, etc. Suppose that this Queen was almighty, one therefore who is not put to embarrassment though all the office-bearers and all the subjects play Her false. What do you suppose this almighty Queen would think about such a thing?? Surely She would say, "The fact that they do not comply with the commandment, that i might forgive; moreover, if they united in a petition that i may have patience with them, or perhaps relieve them entirely of this commandment which seemed to them too hard... even that i could forgive. But this i cannot forgive, that they entirely alter the point of view for determing what seriousness is." ~Judge William|
|06 Feb 2003||Anton Anomalovich||INVISIBLE INK. there comes a time when you swim or sink so i jumped in the drink because i could not make myself clear... maybe i wrote in invisible ink i've tried to think how i could have made it appear... but another illustration is wasted since the results are the same... i feel like a ghost who's trying to move your hands over some ouija board in the hopes i can spell out my name... what some take for magic at first glance is just sleight of hand depending on what you believe... something gets lost when you translate it's hard to keep straight perspective is everything... and i know now which is which and what angle i ought to look at it from... i suppose i should be happy to be misread... better be that than some of these other things i have become... and aside from that this chain of reaction is losing a link... though i'd hope you'd know what i tried to tell you... and if you don't i could draw you a picture with invisible ink. ~Aimee|
|06 Feb 2003||Anti Climaxicus||If conscience is deceived, does it finally take its toll? It is like the woman who offered to sell to Tarquin a collection of Divine Psychology books and when he would not give the sum demanded she burned one-third of them and demanded the same sum, and when again he declined the sum demanded she burned another third of them and demanded the same sum, until finally he gave the original sum for the final third... ~Judge William|
|05 Feb 2003||Jean-Paul Mackellar||DAS BOSHAFT HUND. If i tried to imagine the public as a particular person... i should perhaps think of one of the Roman emperors, a large well-fed figure, suffering from boredom, looking only for the sensual intoxication of laughter, since the Divine gift of wit is not earthly enough. And so for a change he wanders about, indolent rather than bad, but with a negative desire to dominate. Everyone who has read the classical authors knows how many things a Caesar would try out in order to kill time. (Those who perceive time as something to be killed, condemn themselves to die bit by bit.) In the same way the public keeps a dog to amuse itself. That dog is the sum of the literary world. If there is someone superior to the rest, perhaps even a great man, the dog is set loose upon him and then the fun begins. The dog goes for him, snapping and tearing at his Doc Martens, allowing itself every conceivable ill-mannered familiarity... until the public tires, and says it may as well stop. That is an example of how the public levels. Their betters and superiors in strength are mishandled and the dog remains a dog which even the public despises. The leveling is therefore done by a third party; a non-existent public leveling with the help of a third party which in its insignificance is less than nothing, being already more than levelled... The public is unrepentant, for it is not they who own the dog, they only subscribe. They neither set the dog on anyone, nor whistle it off-directly. If asked they would answer: the dog is not ours, it has no master. And if the dog had to be put down they would say: it was really a good thing that bad-tempered god was put down, everyone wanted it bumped-off... even the subscribers. ~Soren|
|04 Feb 2003||Newland Mackellar||ENNUI. The gods were bored, and so they created man. Adam was bored because he was so Alone, and so Eve was created. From that moment on boredom entered into the world, and increased in proportion to the increase of population. Adam was bored alone; then Adam+Eve were bored together; then Adam+Eve+Cain+Abel were bored en famille; then the population of the world increased, and the peoples were bored en masse. To divert themselves they conceived the idea of constructing a Tower high enough to reach the heavens. This idea is itself just as boring as the Tower was high, and constitutes a terrible proof of how boredom gained the upper hand. ~i desire no disciples; but if there happened to be someone present at my beloved Deathbed, and i was certain that the end had arrived, then i might in an attack of philanthropic delirium, whisper my theory in her ear... uncertain whether i had done her a service or not. ~Aybe|
|03 Feb 2003||ginger||if i'm under 13 maybe the best way would be by stop breathing under the water, the kit must have heavy parts so so the idea to keep on breathing would be imposible|
|02 Feb 2003||Joel Podbereski||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. 87 As the captive animal paces about its cage every day for the sake of movement or to measure the length of its chain, so i measure the length of my chain every day by turning to the thought of Death... for the sake of movement and in order to endure Living. ~Soren|
|02 Feb 2003||Ichabod Doldrumsky||ADMIRATIO. There is, unfortunately, nothing to be done with the age before it experiences far deeper convulsions. The whole age can be divided into those who write and those who do not write. Those who write represent despair, and those who read disapprove of it and believe that they have a superior wisdom. ...And yet, if they could write, they would write the same thing. Basically, they are all equally despairing, but when one does not have the opportunity to become important with her despair, then it is hardly worth the trouble to despair and show it. Is this what it is to have conquered despair? ~To despair over oneself, in despair not to will to be oneself, in despair to will to be rid of oneself, in despair to will to devour oneself is the formula for all despair, to which also the other form of despair... in despair to will to be oneself, can be traced back, just as above, in the despair not to will to be oneself, to will to be rid of oneself, is traced back to: in despair to will to Become oneself. ~??|
|02 Feb 2003||wanka||die tur ist zu = the door is closed.|
|02 Feb 2003||sarah||Go to a pedophile's house then deny him sex|
|01 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||DISTRESS. HELLOKELLY. DIE TUR IST ZU.
[You could live...]
"Of course. If we couldn't, we'd be classified as dead. That's the criterion which defines our hell: we can survive in ordinary society. Our deficiencies aren't overwhelming... and we can usually fake a lot of what's missing. Sometimes we can even convince ourselves that nothing's wrong. For a while."
[For a while? You have jobs, money, independence. What else does it take to function?]
[You mean sexual relationships?]
"Not necessarily. But they are the most difficult. And the most... illuminating. Everyone- or almost everyone -instinctively attempts to understand other human beings. To guess what they are thinking. To anticipate their actions. To... know them. People build symbolic models of other people in their brains, both to act as coherent representations, tying together all the info which can actually be observed-speech, gestures, past actions-and to help make informed guesses about the aspects which can't be known directly-motives, intentions, emotions. In most people, all of this happens with little or no conscious effort: there is an innate ability to model other people. It's refined by use in childhood, and total isolation would cripple it's development... in the same way as total Darkness would cripple the visual centers. Short of that sort of extreme abuse, though, upbring isn't a factor. Our hell can only be brought about by congenital brain damage, or later physical injuries to the brain. There are genetic risk factors which involve susceptibility to viral infections in utero-but hell itself is not a simple hereditary disease. The brain structure involved occupies a small region in the left frontal lobe. The specific details describing individual people are scattered throughout the brain-like all memories-but this structure is the one place where those deails are automatically integrated and interpreted. If it's damaged, other people's actions can still be perceived and remembered-but they lose their special significance.They don't generate the same kind of obvious implications; they don't make the same sort of immediate sense. The structure in question probably began to evolve toward its modern humanAngel form in the primates, though it had precursors in earlier mammals. It was first identified and studied-in chimpanzees-by a neuroscientist called LaGronder, in 2014. The corresponding human version was mapped a few years later. Maybe the first crucial role for LaGronder's area was to help make deception possible-to learn how to hide your own true motives, by understanding how others perceive you. If you know how to appear to be servile or cooperative-whatever's really on your mind-you have a better chance of stealing food, or a quick fuck with someone else's partner. But then... natural selection would have upped the ante, and favored those who could see through the ruse. Once lying had been invented, there was no turning back. Development would have snowballed."
[So the fully-infernalized can't lie, or judge someone else to be lying. But the partially-infernalized...?]
"Some can, some can't. It depends on the specific damage. We're not all identical."
[Okay. But what about relationships?]
"Modeling other people successfully can aid cooperation, as well as deception. Empathy can act to improve social cohesion at every level. But as early humans evolved a greater degree of monogamy-at least, compared to their immediate ancestors-the whole cluster of mental processes involved in pair-bonding would have become entangled. Empathy for your breeding partner attained a special status: their life could be, in some circumstances, as crucial to the passing on of your genes as your own. Of course, most animals will instinctively protect their young, or their mates, at a cost to themselves; altruism is an ancient behavioral strategy. But how could 'instinctive-altruism' be made compatible with human self-awareness? Once there was a burgeoning ego, a growing sense of self in the foreground of every action, how was it prevented from overshadowing everything else?...
The answer is, evolution invented intimacy. Intimacy makes it possible to attach some, or all, of the compelling qualities associated with the ego-the model of the self-to models of other people. And not just possible- pleasurable. A pleasure reinforced by sex, but not restricted to the act, like orgasm. And not even restricted to sexual partners, in humans. Intimacy is just the belief-rewarded by the brain-that you 'know' the people you 'love' in almost the same fashion as you know yourself."
[And even partial-infernalization makes that impossible? Because you can't model anyone well enough to really know them at all?]
"Again, we're not all identical. Sometimes the modeling is accurate enough-as accurate as anything's-but it's not rewarded: the parts of LaGronder's area which make most people feel good about intimacy, and actively seek it out, are missing. Those people are considered cold, aloof. And sometimes the reverse is true: people are driven to seek intimacy, but their modeling is so poor that they can never hope to find it. They might lack the social skills to form lasting sexual relationships-or even if they're intelligent and resourceful enough to circumvent the social ineptness, the brain itself might judge the model to be faulty, and refuse to reward it. So the drive is never satisfied-because it's physically impossible for it to be satisfied."
[Sexual relationships are difficult for everyone. It has been suggested that you've merely invented a neurological syndrome which allows you to abdicate responsibility for problems which everyone faces, as a matter of course.]
"And we should just pull ourselves together, and try harder?"
[Either that or have brain-grafts to correct the damage.]
"Yes. Up to and including the complete excision of LaGronder's area."
"Again, that's a complicated question. Everyone has a different reason. For a start, i'd say that as a matter of principle, we should have the widest possible range of choices. Like transsexuals."
[The endpoint of either operation on transsexuals is a healthy woman or man. That's hardly the same as becoming...]
"But we do suffer a mismatch, just like transsexuals. Not between body and brain but between the drive for intimacy and the inability to attain it. No one-save a few religious fundamentalists-would be cruel enough to tell a transsexual that they'll just have to learn to live with what they are, and that medical intervention would be a wicked self-indulgence."
[But no one's stopping you from choosing medical intervention. The graft is legal. And success rates are sure to improve.]
"And as i've said, Voluntary Hellists don't oppose that. For some people, it's the right choice."
[But how can it ever be the wrong choice?]
"Many fully afflicted people suffer additional brain damage, and various kinds of mental retardation. In general, we don't. Whatever damage we've suffered to LaGronder's area, most of us are intelligent enough to understand our own condition. We 'know' that non-afflicted people are capable of believing that they've acheived intimacy. But in Voluntary Hell, we've decided that we'd be better off without that talent."
[Why better off?]
"Because it's a talent for self-deception."
[If your Hell is a lack of understanding of others... and healing the lesion would grant you that lost understanding...]
"But how much IS understanding- and how much is a delusion of understanding? Is intimacy a form of knowledge, or is it just a comforting false belief? Evolution isn't interested in whether or not we grasp the truth, except in the most pragmatic sense. And there can be equally pragmatic falsehoods. If the brain needs to grant us an exaggerated sense of our capacity for knowing each other, to make pair-bonding compatible with self-awareness, it will lie, shamelessly, as much as it has to, in order to make the strategy succeed."
[Hell is a... tragic, disabling disease. How can you romanticize it into nothing more than some kind of... viable alternative lifestyle?]
"i'm not doing any such thing. i've met over a hundred fully-afflicted people, and their families. i know how much pain is involved. If i could banish the condition tomorrow, i'd do it. But we have our own histories, our own problems, our own aspirations. We're NOT fully-afflicted... and excision of LaGronder's area, in adulthood, won't render us the same as someone who was born that way. Most of us have learned to compensate by modeling people consciously, explicitly- it takes far more effort than innate skill, but when we lose what little we have of that, we won't be left helpless. Or selfish, or merciless, or incapable of compassion... or any of the other things the murdochs like to claim. And being granted the surgery we've asked for won't mean loss of employment, let alone the need for institutional care. So there'll be no cost to the community"
[Cost is the least of the issues! You're talking about deliberately-surgically-ridding yourself of something... fundamental to Humanity!!]
"...Exactly. And we've lived for decades with a 'fundamental' truth about human relationships, which we choose not to surrender to the comforting effects of a brain-graft. All we want to do now is make that choice complete. To stop being punished for our refusal to be deceived."
|31 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||[insoc] _don't be afraid_ KURT HARLAND crawl across the floor if it feels like something you know. curl up in a ball if it feels like home. sleep as much as you can. if you can't sleep then lay there. pick at yourself until you feel pure. something's pulling you to the floor. like a long-time friend. someone's banging your head on the wall. as the means to an end. empty. filling up with... sick. like evil-horde slime in your lungs. sucking yellow fog around your skull. this must be the end of you. but you know this will never stop. you can't hear anything anymore. just the hammer in your soul. walk on through the growing noise of your inescapable past. walk willingly into the dark. nothing can touch you now. once you were a child. fear rang through the halls. but you won't think about that now. just some warmth and a home. and an end to the task. your doors are standing wide open. but it's too late for you now...|
|31 Jan 2003||Lucy Cortina||(in olden days before christ)
"Oh yes" screamed the girl, "stick it in!!!" The handsome prince was busy with his ravishment of cinderella. Or was it sleeping beauty? Anyway, she was a princess. The angels of darkness, the dark riders and Lord Saaron himself were in pursuit of the 2 lovers. They had found thongs and g-strings strewn about the landscape of Mordor in their pursuit of the pair. No, not Lucy's breasts, THE RUNAWAYS! They searched far and wide, and among the scattered tampons - and even an erotic toy - they found a ring. The ring. What a ring it was! It would lead them to the couple.
But alas! using her super strong bras, Lucy and the prince had made catapults and were flinging dildo missiles at the crew following them. Saaron and his crew were dead in seconds...
(2003, UK, A Psychiatric unit)
As the prince and the lady embraced at their survival against Saaron back in the olden days, in 2003 a girl named Lucy lay in her bed in an in-patient unit as the doctors cured her of her schizophrenia. Slowly her visions were no more, and the tales of Mordor and breasts were nothing more than a fleeting memory of the past. No more breasts, no more Willy's, no more sisters.
Just Lucy again.