|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?
|29 Jan 2003||Daniel Day-Mackellar||DORCHADAS. In addition to my other numerous acquaintances, i have one more intimate confidant... my depression. In the midst of my joy, in the midst of my work, She beckons to me, calls me aside, even though physically i remain on the spot. My depression is the most faithful mistress i have known... No wonder, then, that i return the Love. ~Soren|
|29 Jan 2003||Ndrew||Just slug it out, there are too many other games to play, just let this one slide, it isn't worth its hype, honest!|
|28 Jan 2003||queermo||Suicide Bombers
|28 Jan 2003||Darius Mackellar||FORUNDERING. Imagine somewhere a great and splendid hall where everything is done to produce nothing but joy and merriment... but the entrance to this room is a nasty, muddy, humble stairway and it is impossible to pass without getting disgustingly soiled, and admission is paid by prostituting oneself, and when day dawns the merriment is over and all ends with one's being kicked out again... but the whole night through is done to keep up and inflame the merriment and pleasure! What is reflection? Simply to reflect on these two questons: How did i get into this and how do i get out of it again, how does it End? What is Thoughtlessness? To muster everything in order to drown all this about entrance and exist in forgetfulness, to muster everything to re-explain and explain away entrance and exit, simply lost in the interval between the birth-cry and the repetition of this cry when the one who is born expires within the Death struggle.
Many folks are afraid of Eternity. If we can only endure Time, certainly we can cope with Eternity. Therefore when one hears the Lovers swear mutual Love for all Eternity, it does not mean nearly as much as when they pledge Love for Time, because one who pledges Love for Eternity can always answer: You shall have to excuse me this Time... ~Soren
|28 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. 319 When Philip threatened to lay siege to the city of Corinth, and all its inhabitants hastily bestirred themselves in defense, some polishing weapons, some gathering stones, some repairing the walls, some overdosing on cloxazolam... Diogenes seeing all this hurriedly folded his mantle about him and began to roll his tub zealously back and forth through the streets. When he was asked why he did such a thing he replied that he wished to be busy like all the rest, and rolled his tub lest he should be the only idler among so many industrious citizens. ~Soren|
|27 Jan 2003||Marshall Banana||Slit your wrists and drown yourself in your own blood.|
|27 Jan 2003||KC||TAKING 5 EXTACY PILLS AT ONCE FOLLOWED BY A BOTTLE OF VODCA...|
|25 Jan 2003||samWISE||I like your breasts, lucy. they look very professional!|
|25 Jan 2003||Stephanie||Eat one of those things that come in the box with your new shoes that say in big letter's on it "CAUTION DO NOT EAT!"|
|24 Jan 2003||Lucy Cortina||Life at my in-patient unit this week was a blast again!!
I was unleashed from the unit for a day beside the seaside. The first thing I heard when I arrived was one of those escapologist-guys (they dress in chains and then break free. Just another form of S & M). He exlaimed: "My pole isa stiff no more!!" His Popeye lookalikey mate said "It must be the smell of the fish!" Well, it was a seaside town :)
Anyway I walked along the promenade past fish & chip shops, amusement arcades and the odd dungeon. I almost thought I heard Billy's cries of frustration from one, but put it down to my new medication. Anyway, as I turned a corner, plop! on my head it was! A seagull had pooped on me. Fantabbytastic! Poopy Cortina. I had spent ages perfecting my hair into a bun too!
Anyway, outside a gift shop I spotted one of those buggies that old people use to speed around in. I decided it would be nice to try it out, see if it can go faster than me. Well, boy was it fast! It shot forwards like Billy's cock!! 15 mile an hour those things can go. They're lethal, I'm sure I could have mown down a few tourists while I was there (A lot of Aussies were there too. One even said: "G'day Lucy, yie 'ad 'yer titties on the barbie?"). Anyway I was off, speeding around town on my buggy. Until the police caught up with me. Revealing my cleavage couldn't save me this time - the police guy escorted me back to my in-patient unit.
Which is when I opened my bottle of "fart spray" and sprayed it on the doorhandle to the doctor's office. The doctor once said to me: "I like your pig, Lucy. It looks very professional" (I once made a pig out of clay in an Art Group at the unit). Now it's even more professional, and she will soon find out!
Ooh I'm evil!
|24 Jan 2003||Jeanie||There is a serial killer in my neighborhood. I've been walking two hours a night since I found out about him. You think this dumb ass would have found me by now... FRESH MEAT! For someone that has killed dozens of people... he sure is off his game.|
|22 Jan 2003||Dimitri Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN CATASTROPHES. VOL.-1 The sun is an acid eye/we're corroded with pleasure inside/there's a hole in your thin white skin/now we'll never be clean again/Our hands are two shattered claws/we scrape at the ground for hours/i buried this soul in the floor/to gain control of unfeeling/This city's a crowded room/this earth is a closing tomb/in my hand is your perfect womb/when you breathe your breath is obscene/My heart is a lead box/ideas are shutting locks/the air was just turned off/now we're sucking from this Machine/The sun did not rise today/your children will stay where you lay/the oil is black and it's thick/and sex is a void filled with plastic/The president's mouth is a whore/when there's murder the audience roars/there's no room left here for the strong/and everything Human's necessarily wrong. AMNESIA. ~m.gira|
|22 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||...Sometimes i am afraid of the terrible things that seem real, within this thickening Darkness of thought, and of the exquisite shapelessness to these things i feel. It is like a Madness at long-last, to realise that i've been fading into the pale assembly of an unreality: this baseness, this faith... this god-forsaken mind... Whilst my Self is all the while a piece of emptiness pulsating in horror, and the Horror and the Emptiness are all that remains real. This whole universe of deafening Darkness and dying passions... The subterranean universe of the things which have been denied Being... has conquered me for now, and i care not to escape. Yet still, i think with fear of having to speak... when no one dares to fathom the vacantness in such a Language.|
|21 Jan 2003||Felicia||I was just walking by the in-patient unit to drop by a basketful of purple, pink, and yellow daisies to Lucy. There she was on the phone talking to a tampon company, complaining that the Procter & Gamble establishment was cutting off her lifetime supply of "weaved cotton, stop-leak protection". Procter & Gamble, were filing for Chapter 7 Bankruptcy, and willing to charge their faithful customers, promising discounts on free samples, to make extra cash. The profit margin didn't look great in Wallstreet. Dow Jones decided that supply and demand was at an all time low for tampon companies. Recently, most of their customers got spayed at the nearest animal clinic to cut the costs of hospital bills. But not Lucy, she kept all her equipment and cherished her wondrous bosoms. The Christina Aquilera sound-alike on the phone for Procter & Gamble customer service, was a ditzy blonde look-alike with a Britney Spears mentality and the ass the size of Kylie Minogue's or was it J.Lo? Oh gosh! My memory is going dead! Anyways, Lucy, it was rumored that Procter & Gamble was indeed a behind the scenes gypsy "cult" and their only Oracle is an Ouija board. My dear friend, stay away from these people, because they will scam you for every penny that you have.|
|20 Jan 2003||ray||forgotten, battered and beaten I am the lost son. lost to every one there is one solution to this problem: death joy its of all joys death|
|20 Jan 2003||ray||you know what's funny I've tried suicide 2 times with pills. They seem like a good answer, but 20 sleeping pills and 25 pills of aderall later I am still kicking. so this is what I am going to try and it's sure fire: hang yourself. it's pretty fast and kinda painless. "I hate so much in this life, do you know what it is like to hate down deep inside" (Violent Femmes)|
|18 Jan 2003||Lucy Cortina||Life at my inpatient unit is SUCH a blast. It's more like a youth hostel rather than a psychiatric unit.
Spying on a vegie-lezbo "doing her bits" in the bathroom alone excites me to an almost orgasmic state.
It may be unhealthy for a teenage, deeply curved, busty girl to develop obsessions with nurses, but hey-ho! I'm Lucy, I do as I please!
One of the nurses has a "third tit" - a yukky mole on her face. She's such a sad old bag. I tried to take a pic of the third tit as evidence, but couldnt bear the thought of being exposed to a bra-less tit on a face as cratered as Mars.
Anyway, from tits to 'down belows' - the only UK Tampax factory is closing down! (makers of English tampons). I was on the phone for over 2 hours today, waiting to complain. It was an automated phone service.
"To speak to an operator who is very nice, but no help at all, press 1.
To be cut off for no apparant reason, press 2.
To speak to an over-enthusiastic office girl, press 3..."
and so on, and so on. When I finally got through to complain, a voice - eerily similar to Christina Aguilera's - said in a sweet tone: "I'm sorry, we no longer produce tampons. Good day to you".
So I'm here all alone and tampon-less. Thanks to Christina Aguilera. She insists that people get "Dirrty".
Bang goes my chances with Billy...
|18 Jan 2003||ShElLy||drowned... it looks like an accident.... or hang yourself. if your neck doesn't break then have fun hanging around!|
|17 Jan 2003||Larius Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN CATASTROPHES. VOL.1 What is a poet? An unhappy soul who in her heart harbors a deep anguish, but whose lips are so fashioned that the moans and cries which pass over them are transformed into ravishing music. Her fate is like that of the unfortunate victims whom the tyrant Phalaris imprisoned in a brazen bull, and slowly tortured over a steady fire; their cries could not reach the tyrant's ears so as to strike terror into his heart; when they reached his ears they sounded like sweet music. And the masses crowd about the poet and say to her, "Sing for us soon again" -which is as much to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul, but may your lips be fashioned as before; for the cries would only distress us, but the music... the music is delightful." And the critics lurch forward to say, "That is perfectly done-just as it should be, according to the rules of aesthetics."
Now it is understood that a critic matches a poet to a hair; he only lacks the anguish in his heart and the music upon his lips. I tell you, i would rather be a swineherd, understood by the swine, than a poet misunderstood by the masses. ~Soren
|17 Jan 2003||John Coulter||For how much longer must i howl into this wind? For how much longer must i cry like this? A thousand wasted hours a day...just to feel my heart for a second. A thousand hours just thrown away...just to watch this shell decay. ~Bob Smithers|