|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?
|03 Feb 2004||Joe Lee||I might have written something more than what I am willing to share on my normal days. The truth is that I have been off medication over the years, which in fact I should have probably stayed on. I have multiple personalities or combination of psychological characters. Only one thing seem constant for five out of seven personalities is - great interest in death.
I do not encourage suicide or go against it.. simply do whatever you have to. But sometimes simply endure your sufferings can be philosophically enjoyable.
I have woken up in the middle of the night bleeding from cuts made from invisible enemies. People calling whom I don't even remember. Only pictures could bring back some memories, but where are people in these pictures now? Ironically, society seems to favor the physically attractive, thus I always seems to have someone who can tolerate the kind of shit I throw at them.
I am tired of people,
So tired of this world,
Medication bottles brings back painful memories... a reminder of that I have seen three psychiatrists in my life.. Three! Well, I don't know about you, but I feel that could be an indication that I am mentally ill.
I certainly don't think of myself as crazy or psychotic, that's why I don't take medications. After all, why should a normal person take medications? But anyway, I am not crazy.
Sometimes it feels like a dream, but it turns out to be reality or is it vice versa?
Well, it's pretty bad if nightmares turns into reality... Like days ago, I had this dream turned into nightmare, in which I punched a friend inflicting severe damage. Not even a prior argument before the fight, but I just started punching and thinking like a boxer. Then yesterday, I saw his bruised up face and realized it was a reality... not very cool, it was a reality-nightmare all over again. Living under layers of paradoxical dimensions... I already lost myself... maybe this is hell?
Sitting in a slow rising roller coaster ride to insanity, I have already moved beyond the realms of suicidal thoughts and unsuccesful attempts. And all of me are still very excited to see what's like over the top. How powerful of an psychotic multiple personality torture can one endure, maybe pluge direct into the hell or something less harsh, who knows?
Kids, trust me... before suicide, first finish your education, read some books, enjoy some aspects of life. Then you can start your psychotic roller coaster ride in life... you will fucking love it when you move past the point of no return.
By the way, I didn't get any Chinese new year's money, but I do know how to play poker or yatzhee. I gotta be the only Chinese in the world who is like that... Damn you, who are you? For all the things you could have said, you said yatzhee, which I kinda like it. You just want to see me kill myself don't you? Damn, I feel so weird, probably being the only Chinese in the world saying that I kinda like yatzhee. I should probably ckeck myself into the labour camp one of these days.
|01 Feb 2004||tdcj~||well now. . . 2004 can bring hope for anyone who has blood in there veins. It is hope that keeps that blood moving don't you think? I am an Amerikan. I want Howard Dean for president! I want to be a DJ in a town that needs organized choas on the local feaks. I want a pro philanthrophy buisness to help my friends that in projects. I want my investors to invest in my INDEPENDENT HUMANITARIAN DREAM! I want to live in an UTOPIAN world but when I look around I can't feel that or taste that I just see pain and suffering. I guess that is the way it goes. Last night I sat in a really KOOL hottub with some "millionairs" in amerika and the lights in tub changes colors and Norah Jones was being piped out to bose speakers. There are capitalist humanitarians who want change for the world. BUT, everyone always wants their piece of the pie. MY PIE exists in my head that I can suck up into "that utopian dream" I love it I have hope in it. Sometimes when my mind magnutes me to the "mental hospital" I see truth in energy of people souls that try SO HARD to be something. But I think we are all human and I think as well that if we try too hard to answer the fact that humans are not "questions" we are something outside that. DO YOU GET THAT! I have hard time reading. Sometimes I just ask people I love to read to me so I can hear. I am trying to focus on change for the better but sometimes I see a circle that humans will never get off of like a hamster wheel. There will always be war unless people accept that democracy is the key to diversity or diversity is the key to democracy. I wish on every star that heart loose those terms and just feel that way~ meet half way~ learn and grow into a better species. Hope nobody thinks I am dumb because I can't always spell right and I make up words. WHAT IS ESPERANTO? I think we already have it! It is here among a sea of words capped with pain and under toes of suffering. Keep the faith in what ever keeps you alive and find something that you can invest in to GIVE YOU HOPE> now forget all these words and what are you left with? ANSWER: (for me) it is a feeling. . .
|18 Jan 2004||Felicia born in the year of the Monkey||I missed you Phil! I thought you were gone. But you didn't appear in my dreams, so I assumed you were still alive. As one of my all time favourite posts posters please feel free to email me. I'm laying on the bed wallowing on my back, gazing at my protruding tummy.
Hi Billy. My name is Felicia. "Lucy's" talked much of you because she has big boobies. To be quite honest, you are so funny! I had a blast reading about your overview on the "Mayan" civilization which involved crossed eyed babies with stones in the middle of their foreheads. I laughed so hard on both you and Lucy's comments, I almost busted a stitch and my guts almost fell all over the floor.
Hi Elaine. You have a nice name. Please don't give up visiting this site because people still do care. If you need a woman to woman talk I am right here. But don't worry. I'm not lesbian. I'm strickly dickly. Ask Lucy about me and she'll give you a good word about me.
Please get started in writing your book which is a bit interesting. I don't know how you do it, but you write pretty long... and that's a talent that should be well spent on a good novel.
For dealing with me and deleting my gripes on loud cultural shock music and my bouts with shock therapy. Yes, I am coming of age. And yes, I am born in the "Year of the Monkey" which begins January 22nd 2004.
|16 Jan 2004||Phil||This is my first time looking at this site for a while now. And ohmygod, Billy, you are BACK!!! Finally escaped from that hell they call the pub, eh?
Yay, I didn't kill myself! I'm still alive and thriving now. Well not exactly, but I have my boyfriend and that's all I need.
I was in hospital around Xmas, and I will share it with you all. The first night there, a young asian doctor was doing his rounds. There was a deaf old man there who had just been in a plane crash. The doc went through the routine questions, until he came to "How are your bowels?" and of course the old man, bless him, could not hear him. So the doc shouted "HOW ARE YOUR BOWELS?!" But because of his strange asian accent, it sounded like he said "HOW ARE YOUR BABBELS?!"
Apart from that there was the lady in the bed opposite us who up until the point she burped, we thought she was just a corpse being stored out of the way. She even apologised and said "Pardon me!"
Then there were the nurses who were shocked at us two boys sleeping in a bed together, but I will tell you more about that soon....
|13 Dec 2003||IMRAN||U SON OF BITCHES WHY DO U WANT THESE KIDS NTO DIE U MOTHER FUCKIN PEODOPHILES IF U THINK UR SO BAD COME FIN ME MY NAMES IMRAN I LIVE IN ENGLAND AND MY PHONE NUMBER IS 07742018776 ILL KILL U U SON OF BITJHCHES WHITE BASTARD|
|13 Dec 2003||Chris||Justin, I'm sorry too for you are TOTALLY wrong. Some facts: I am NOT married, I am still a teen myself, I DO NOT have any kids. I think you are confusing me with the Chris who wrote on 26th November 2003 (The name Chris who's not me has cropped up some other times and I had warned that it wasn't me, I thought there wasn't need to warn again)! And I doubt if you read that carefully. He didn't say he has two kids but he has: "a beautiful 2 year old daughter". In his post he also says that after watching some documentary he: "searched and stumbled on this site" which clearly shows he was the first time here (and I am far from a first timer! He also left his e-mail address which I never do (I think that's proof enough that I'm not trying to "get action" from here) and over all what he wrote is not my kind of writing! And from all those really "gross pleas from female names" I can only remember two who have talked directly to me regularly in their posts; Leanne and Mauvais! Surely it's not that much. And I still respect and love them a lot. I have e-mailed Mauvais, but only on her request and I can swear I'm not playing up. And Justin, you haven't got the WHOLE point of mouchette.org. For us long timers here, the What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13? is just a rhetoric question that can build up a train of thought. Yes, I've written about suicide but suicide is not all there is. As long as we're still alive things that make us either happy or sad are happening all the time and one would want to share his/her experiences. Mouchette.org is our home. You are also wrong about the etiquette of this site. Anything, anyone posts is shown to everybody because everyone can have his say or opinion, even personal attacks, although they might hurt. You also said "offering help to people". I never directly did that. I need help myself (but then it was the other Chris who offered it directly too). You also call the Chris you're talking about a "gentleman" and then you imply that he's probably a: "sick man on this board hoping to find young, impressionable and depressed teens for some action)! I wouldn't call that kind of man a 'gentleman'! I think I have dissected all your message and proved you wrong all the way. Before you talk, read all evidence carefully, think and do your homework. Your post was a shabby piece made on lots of bits and pieces which are untrue (and can be easily seen as untrue)!
Looking at it more positively, I can make two points. Fist is that it's good to talk/criticise if you feel something is not right or not fully understandable, and maybe request an answer for some particular post. Second point is that sick people on this site should IMMEDIATELY move out. I hate peadophiles and peadophelia. If anyone thinks this is a joke or a game, fuck off. If anyone is playing around, he/she is a really sick, perverted player!
Can I prove that what I said is the holy truth? No, you just have to trust me! But then, I trust you that you are not a sick player yourself, that you are who you say you are. (The action is easier for you as people can actually contact you because you left your e-mail) and I trust you that all your mistakes were genuine and not to try and fuck me up!
Anyways, enough of that! For those who've been dying for the continuation of last time's post... wait some more, because I have ran out of time!
P.S Thanks Mauvais for that post. Couldn't have said it better myself but I just wanted to enforce the point!
See ya soon...
|24 Nov 2003||Chris||Nasty things have a way of happening even though intentions may be a compilation of the very best. Think of parents saying and doing shit that they think make you happy but in fact they depress you so much. Think of the Chinese government. They thought their one child per couple scheme was going to take care of over population. What they didn't count on was the creating of a mind-boggling number of Chinese only children all being spoiled by their own parents and extended family.
Today's kids are competing in the spoilt child olympic games. Qualifying for the spoilt child olympics takes energy, grit and dtermination, with continous support and cheering on by stupid doting parents and grandparents. Kids are becoming rulers of the here, there and everywhere, including street, school, house and the bathroom. And their expectations are high and lordly, expecting an all singing, all dancing performance from even the most mundane object, such as the bloody automatic toothbrush. (Everythiing's gone automatic, they'll probably soon invent an automatic ass cleaner!). Giiven that the only physical exercise most children get these days is brushing their teeth, why give them toothbrushes that do all the work? It won't be long before they will be demanding automatic contraptions to blow their noses for them.
Kids even dictate eating family habits, with cereals created to resemble little waffles and fried potatoes in the shape of super little heroes. They also dictate what stories to be told before going to sleep and the choice always falls on bloody Harry Potter or such like. Parents might either comply by ferrying their children to activities, sheering offspring and keeping them and their clothes clean, or they can avoid this by encouraging children to take up a variety of hobbies. These will keep kids occupied, and parents poor! Any form of rebellion from the parents would only lead to historic shedding of tears. Extra points in the spoiled child olympics are always given for children turning blue in the face or throwing up.
And there go the parents, buying useless shit for the kids again. And are the kids ever happy? No, they are not! There's nothing else that these kids can do in life because everything is ready made. There's nothing original. Their stupid parents just want them to do well in their exams. Some of the kids cannot make it. Those who do are covered with gifts. Those who don't are jealous for the gifts. There's a lot of shouting, screaming and crying from both parents and kids. No one is happy. Parents work kard to get money. Kids don't really give a fuck, they get what they want, get pissed with it, break it and forget all about it. When they reach that special age of thirteen they have either adopted the face with the stupid smile of senseless happiness or either have adopted the sad, depressed suicidal face. Then there are a few like me and most of you who all they need is a damn good hug, a damn good kiss, a damn good day and some damn good love and I will live.
I know what you're thinking. Aren't most of us of a young age? So are you saying we are spoilt, stupid brats? No friends, I'm not saying that. From what I read here I realise that we are the people who know what real life is. We've seen and felt pain and we are still living through it. And I can hardly say I always got what I want. I think I have always been reasonable but others do not want to be reasonable with me. With me, it's always less rather than more. Believe me, I never wanted more. I'm proud that I'm not a spoilt man with a goddamn stupid face with a stupid smile.
It's quite terrifying when a three year old appears to be the most powerful person in a room. It's equally frightening to see that all primary school children have computers, televisions in their rooms, all totemic of parents over-compensating for their own less idyllic childhood. Not to mention birthday presents for four year olds which include mobile-phones to talk to their friends, anytime, anywhere. What happened to the odd bicycle race around the block or an evening spent in lazy corners as means of communication. Call me so 20th century again but this shit is making kids more depressed and suicidal. The children's appetite for whatever the market offers is also created by the market itself which targets children as the new, all powerful consumer group. No wonder Gucci has recently launched its new children's range, with a mink coat or a leather jacket on offer for just 1,125 pounds! This is the price we are paying for a 24-7 society where things to buy are on offer any time of the day, from actual or online shops. It's the price we are paying for having more money and being more affluent. Put unparalleled affluence alongside a willingness to indulge, and you have the most sad, spoilt generation ever brought up. Blame the parents, and Freud.
But their sadness has no real basis, not like us. Life is just sad for them. You know why? The very accomplishments and good fortune parents so despeartely desire to share with their children put them at risk. The body cannot learn to adapt to stress unless it experiences it. Indulged children are often less able to cope with stress because their parents have created an atmosphere where their whims are indulged, when they have always assumed that they are entitled to everything and that life should be a bed of roses, something which we all here have known all along. The spoilt kids will get to know it later, and disappointment can be greater. Spoilt children grow into arrogant car drivers who bump their way through traffic as if the road was theirs.
I don't think we want more of that. Life is already too depressing. So you see we have a shithead generation that came before us and a shithead generation coming after us. Are we perfect? Of course we ain't but I don't rule out being the best. When you want to think positive think: 'I'm not the one who should commit suicide, the rest of the human poulation should'. Impossible, but nice!
P.S. Asshole, sorry to say this but you chose the perfect name, because you talked like an..... asshole. I never said or tried to show that I know everything. Actually, I barely know anything. Just enough to feel the pain and be real. And another thing. (What I'm going to say has already been said but it's worth telling again). Look up suicide kit in your dictionary of choice and what do you find? Hey, presto....nothing! (If you are so keen on references look back on the site for someone named Phil/Lucy for the exact quote) So I write what I feel and if there is someone being shallow, narrow and naive, I think it's you! As our Phil/Lucy friend would have said, don't talk pap!
Mauvais, Harry, Leanne, etc I love you but can you reduce the 'wonderful writer' talk please? It's nice to know that someone reads this shit and cares, but say different stuff.
Love u all
See ya, and don't be spoilt kids....
|27 Oct 2003||Caleb||So why is it always the purest of people who are forced to suffer such tremendous, indescribable pain? Why is it that while the other wretches of society continue to walk the face of the earth, belittling whom they please and crushing whatever they desire while we are forced to receive all negative repercussions. Yet they are the ones permitted to continue living in bliss, living in the ecstasy derived from the pain of others. As I read the posts here, I can't help but feel an emotion I forgot so long ago, sympathy. Not in some cheap way were people say they "feel sorry" only so they can attempt to earn your trust only to stab you in the back a moment later.
I have felt the devastation of betrayal, abuse, and loneliness from everyone I have ever come in contact with, family absolutely being no exception. What purpose is there to living in such a world? Why live when there is no future except more pain.
I know my death would bring nothing emotional to my family except maybe relief. I have no friends so that limits the playing field. I simply wake up each day and go to class, come back, sleep, and repeat the process. I have become so mechanical lately that I don't even feel alive. Every passing day seems like a split second in my desolate world, a world comprised of emotionless actions followed by nothing more than a harsh reality of despair constantly staring back at me. Why couldnt I have lived a happy life, void of such misery? Nooo, I had to have so many fuck ups that I am destined to be alone for the rest of my life even if I dont want to. This used to be fine with me, but that was also a time when I had become a horrific shadow of the former kindness I once held in my frail heart.
I am sure that every one of you would make such excellent friends, as would I. We are all too familiar with pain and betrayal (one in the same.) I wish I could meet you, if nothing more than to talk, to be understood and not looked at as some monster. I almost shot myself when I was merely 11 years old, and then some times after that. I cut myself to relieve the unrelenting psychological pain, but now I cant even do that, for there is far too much pain, physical and mental. Most of my past I dont even remember, probably because I dont want to. I still want to calmness of death, yet I keep blindly following this maybe it will get better philosophy which is nothing more than a lie, an extension of mankinds will to survive. I probably will go through with it soon enough. I am going to stick it out . just a little longer. Foolish optimism but I dont want to die knowing that if I had waited one more day something would have changed.
I dont know what I can do, but if anyone would like to e-mail me, if nothing more than to talk, go right ahead and do so. People like us are driven into a life of darkness, which contradicts the purity of our actual being. We were not born for such misery; the other assholes who are enjoying life are the ones who should be feeling the pain. Not us.
I may have reached my dead end, but I want to at least help someone find a new course in life that will bring about happiness, if for nothing else than to hear them out. Maybe that way I can feel like I actually lived.
|26 Oct 2003||pierre||La mort, cette dernière inconnue que veulent découvrir tout les hommes, le grand mystère de l'après que veulent élucider bien avant l'heure tout ceux qui ont fait le choix de se suicider.
En effet, le suicide est le plus grand, le plus responsable et quoique que les gens bien pensant veuillent bien dire, le plus libre des actes quun homme puisse envisager. C'est d'ailleurs pourquoi j'ai choisit de faire l'apologie de cette manière de finir sa vie.
Pour commencer nous pouvons remarquer que le suicide repose sur le jugement négatif que l'on porte sur une situation, sur des problèmes qui nous dépassent et que l'on sait ne jamais devoir se terminer un jour, c'est donc en toute connaissance de cause, après avoir envisagé la portée de son acte et les conséquences que cela peut avoir sur sa famille que celui qui décide de se suicider passe à l'acte. C'est donc une certaine forme de choix, ce qui revient à dire que c'est une forme de liberté, un geste par lequel on se rend libre de refuser une vie que l'on a pas réclamée, c'est pourquoi, ceux qui veulent se suicider et qui mettent fin à leur jour n'agissent jamais sous la contrainte mais plutot après avoir choisi librement de mourir.
D'autre part, nous pouvons également dire que le suicide peut se placer en une sorte de philosophie. En effet, qu'est ce qu'une philosophie sinon un choix délibéré de pouvoir mener sa vie comme bon nous semble, de pouvoir placer librement ses règles, ses droits et ses devoirs. Le suicide peut se placer dans cette optique là, en effet celui qui veut se suicider s'arroge le droit de mourir et se donne comme devoir de faire changer une situation qu'il juge assez intolérable pour mettre fin à ses jours.
Pourtant de nos jours, cette philosophie est contestée et le suicide reste dans la plupart des société un sujet tabou. Pourquoi? Tout simplement parce que la société dans laquelle nous vivons refuse que certaines personnes décident pleinement de leur existence, aussi bien de leur vie que de leur mort. L'Etat cherche à controler l'individu, à forger une société ou même s'il existe des communautés, il y toujours le fardeau des lois qui fait ployer les hommes et les forcent à courber le dos. La liberté n'est pas cela, la liberté, c'est de pouvoir choisir ce que l'on veut faire, de pouvoir juger de nos actes, de notre existence et, lorsqu'elle devient un fardeau pour nous ou pour les autres, de pouvoir la supprimer sans avoir de compte à rendre à une quelconque morale
C'est pourquoi, si certaines personnes, certain jeunes hésitent à passer à l'acte à cause de certaine valeurs, il n'ont qu'à les oublier, à les dénigrer et ainsi se tuer librement.
KILL YOUR GOD
KILL YOUR MOM AND DAD
|23 Oct 2003||ronwelthy||I went to a shop where they sell Magic articles and T-shirt of heavy metal and rap singer with my friend. He wanted to get information for a friend who was exactly like me: he wants to know what real happiness is and wants to escape the hypocrisy of life. He has gone throught difficulties. So we started to talk whith the salesman and he told us that when you believe that something could give you what you want, for example that a stone can give you love, it will, most of the time work and you'll find yourself talking to the girl of your dreams, or it can help you to face other difficulties.
But I won't bother you with magic stuff. If I write, it is just because I would like to tell you that I would like to be a gothic.
_Ha what a weird man, he must be crazy!
No, i think i am not, but I think gothic philosophy suits me well, in fact gothic people believe that life is kind of an ordeal, and so you have to stay stoic in order to resist, it means you have to resign, to tell yourself that some people have to cry while other dance and laugh. That's hard, i know, but then you will see death as a delivrance the perfect happiness. Yes, a moment where you don't have to bother about anything, where you float peacefully without any worries in your mind.
|21 Oct 2003||Lucy/Phil||Lucy/Phil will be dead by the end of next week :)
Yay for me!!!
|21 Oct 2003||Steve||Just checking in. I'm not dead yet, but I probably will be soon. I probably would have killed myself over this past weekend, but when I was faced with the prospect of going through with slitting my wrist, I literally started shivering with fear. I hate my life, but the thought of death still scares me. However, I don't think fear will stop me for long, as one of these days I'll probably feel terrible enough to go through with it.
I'll be slitting my wrist, and from what I heard it is an extremely painful process and can last a long time before you die. I plan to take a lot of prescription strength tylenol and numb my wrist with ice first to decrease the pain.
By the way, is Lucy/Phil dead?
|27 Sep 2003||Chris||Where does a 13 year old spend most of his/her time? Basically it's either at school or at home. So we ask can a child be suicidal about school? Of course he can! It's just that the 'child' only realises years and years later that his school days were not the best days of his life as we are incorrectly normally led to believe!
It all begins when you start assuming that your old school mates want to see you again. The fact that at school you were irrelevant and might have been forgotten doesn't enter your head. Meanwhile, you start lingering over the stationery and pleated trousers, take out your primary school excercise books and the old tie signed by all your back bench companions and scribbled with old cliches like "Keep in touch" and "We'll never forget you."
Two days later the nostalgia gets worse, so you send a tentative e-mail to a 'girl' you went to school with, wondering whatever happened to her and all those school friends you lost touch with. You immediately demand all the contact details of everyone and start firing 1,000-word epics across the country. "How about having a school reunion", you say. "Come on, it'll be fun". Of course, you're wagging your tail all over this school reunion business. After all, weren't you drop-dead popular at school, carried upon the shoulders of young lads with shining eyes and flushed cheeks? Didn't girls queue up after school skipping on their toes for just one glimpse of tousled hair hero you? Weren't you the up and always coming star of the football team?
Oh no, that was your friends. Suddenly like a rush of bad breath it all comes back to you. You were only there when it happened to them. And after all the inspired brain storming involved in the choosing of the bar and restaurant, after you send the last e-mail and hang up the last caller, realisation comes upon you that planning the school reunion was a very big, big mistake.
At school-leaving, you set controls for the heart of the sun. Years later, you have either taken the whole solar system with you or been frazzled to a crisp by the sun. And you find yourself at your school reunion, the one you planned, looking more like facing a job interview than someone on a fun night out, nervously chatting over your drinks (yes, you need a lot), balding heads and wrinkling faces. This wasn't what you had in mind when you started plotting on a Shakespearean scale. You hardly envisaged that you need strength for school reunions, because you need to be fairly secure to lay your life open to the scrutiny of your earliest critics. After all no one likes to admit to failing to become an astronaut or a rock star. And what if you turn up and everyone is richer, thinner, 'better' somehow than you?
School reunions are false hope. School reunions are unkind, all the more so since certain people may have stumbled on hard times, lost their jobs, looks, marriage or hair. School reunions are cruel reminders that you have been forgotten by all your companions, and when you return home, generally sad and with all dignity lost, you question not only the night out but the whole first part of your education and ponder- Are primary and secondary school days really the best days of our lives that our faith in history leads us to believe?
We start off with kindergarten and primary school, those seasons of cartoon character satchels and new pencil cases. For mothers, there's a clucking flurry of last-minute shopping for school clothes, sport shoes, colour coded plastic covers and stationery. For fathers, it's filling up the petrol tank for taxing children to school prior to a day at the office (but they are glad that they are going to get rid of you and your whaling, "at least for school time"). Children are excited, anxious, even terrified at the prospect of a whole new year- new teachers to know, new subjects and new expectations to wrestle with (yes, you're so stupid that you like the idea of work and challenges!). Some will be indifferent and envisage endless SMS tournaments on their mobile phones. Most of them are mourning the end of summer holidays, when there was more time for eating and playing, for laughter and silliness and sleeping to the max.
For thousands of children, school marks the start of that endless, boring to hell routine- up at seven, off to school 45 minutes later, home at two with homework, television, piano practice, television, some kind of evening class (religious, ballet or something), football training, television, supper, and another hour of blurred television screen before mum gets up and heaves them to bed at a reasonable hour. Next morning it's same thing, day in, day out until summer dawns again and thankfully it's the time when nothing much happens. Compared to summer holidays the other breaks are insignificant. The Christmas break is full of anxiety: too much money spent and family tensions rise to boiling temperatures. Easter may be a celebration of spring, but it's usually spent in swotting for the upcoming exams and too much chocolate eating. Summer, though is the season of sun, sea and sleeping to the max. It's blue sky, ice-creams, yellow sand and suntanned faces for three whole months.
But as all good things go, summer holidays get shorter. Year after year, parents start becoming pushy bores, and children find themselves in that awkward age marked by a new deep voice, hairy hands and limbs (not to mention the pubic area) and voila, they are suddenly ready to go to secondary school, going on 13 and already bored with life. One minute they are children, the next they are considering the mysteries of shaving and opposite sex and thinking that maybe they should have enjoyed their childhood more and not have started school at three and took the risk of being sucked into schooling too early. Maybe they shouldn't have taken a million ballet, piano, football and private lessons. Another bicycle ride would have been nice, while that first kiss should have been followed by a second and a third. And young Lucy would have made a nice girlfriend and Lara's special Sunday leftover shouldn't have gone unstolen. But then, it's not the children who decide what is best for them.
So off to secondary school the children go with a daily grunt. They wallow like treacle in bus stages, easily distinguishable in their colour-coded uniforms. The private school children speak poshly, and have neat hair matching expensive sports gear. They cringe and pucker up their faces at everyone including state secondary school students staring at them. They are all navigators of uncharted territory.
On leaving primary school, children are not just one year older, but embarking on a whole phase of life, which least to say is more depressing. Starting secondary school feels like the official opening to the small adolescent's games (knowing in your heart that you were never a good athlete).
Fascinating phenomena appear, like pimples and the discovery, in single sex groups and far from the madding teachers, of the mythical other sex. New friends (which years later you realise were no friends at all) are made and innovative disciplinary methods like after school hours tried and frequently tested. There are new subjects like history and languages. Boring ones like sports, for those like me who never saw the point of running unless you're being chased. Mysterious ones like geography, that ability to trace maps and a capacity to rote learn the names of such fixed and ambigous places as rivers, cities, deserts and oceans. Yes you might find it amazing as you are still too stupid to realise how worthless it is.
Secondary school years are for children like the seven years of worry (they do sometimes repeat). Some fret about whether they'll make the basketball team. Others feel the heavy breath of the nearing O level exams down their neck. "Homework", screams the teacher. "Home", orders mum, "straight after school and no lingering with your friends". "Work", disciplines dad, witholding promises of a new computer, which is only supposed to be used to help with the homework (the naughty boys and girls end up searching suicide websites...). "Help", children shout in the direction of guidance teachers and counsellors (this is done only to distract the teachers and parents and manage to get away with not doing the work, after all, real help is only found on good suicide websites). Secondary school is a time where bullies appear on the school yard horizon, like the Beano Bash Street Kids, promising violent fights and riots, dark revenge in obscure corners of the school ground, cruel and puerile, but let's face it, these are the only real exciting things about school. And while all this is taking place, 'friends' always seem to be running outside having a good time.
So you think that your schooldays are the best days of your life? Think again and you realise how depressing and suicidal they are. But come the end of summer and me and all the other students have to go back unfortunately, though I've passed my primary and secondary years thankfully.
Moral: If you survive and you're still alive years after school is finished don't ever organise or attend a school reunion! It'll completely break you down.
P.S. I have to say something on everyone's comments about this site changing. Yeah, this site has changed but it just has got better. My story of this site reflects the story of the site itself. First time I came in I just had a sight, put in a cruel, stupid joke and left, second time I did the same. Third time I realised that this site wasn't so stupid so I decided to write something a little more tasteful and I started messing around with poetry. I ended up in Mouchie's favourites and kept doing poetry for some time. Then I wrote some stupid shit, tried to forget about the site but came back fairly recently and anyone who reads my stuff knows what I write today. I have come to realise the potential of this site and today it means much more to me. This site helps you unlike the all the other sites that tell you that you should contact their counselors for help. That's all shit. Sometimes this site may look as some 'blind leading the blind', or rather 'suicidal leading suicidal' idea but you know? It works. The reflection in the site's story is here. In the beginning people used to come in, write stupid jokes and probably never come back, then things got better and people used to log on more than once and they were writing more serious stuff. Today anyone who logs in for the first time is hooked because the site is much more mature and entertaining. Occasionally you still find some bullshit. Even Mouchie's tastes have also changed. Leaf through the 'favourite' pages and you'll notice the difference between blasted suicide ideas (which I admit still make me laugh), and better, more mature stories and ideas building gradually through the years. Not that I will ever complain of Lucy's stories. And for all those crying their hearts out on Lucy, now that I know that she's not real I can do without any more Lucy stories because now they will sound stale. I am gonna get criticised for what I said but I suggest another thing, maybe Lucy or Phil or who the fuck it is may log on with a new name and give us other delightful stories. And for those crying on Felicia and Billy, they are with us and they have written only recently. So shut the fuck up (no offence to anyone! That's just my aggressive manner of speaking) and be proud that you make part of this excellent, or should we say classic site, as it is supposed to go down in history, which just gets better every day.
And Leanne if you are not fed up of my speech by now and still reading, thanks for naming me. At least I know that I'm not talking alone. I'm saying this as in my history here (which is getting quite long now) I remember only three times were there was a reference to me or my writing! Thank you, maybe somebody does care after all!
See you disgustingly at school, college, university or where the fuck you're going! Unfortunately I'm gonna be there...
|24 Sep 2003||Phil||I got a lovely surprise today. After typing my personality Lucy Cortina's name into the search engine, I was led to a tranny porn site. Yes ideedy, the "Lucy's dad is a tranny" story had made it onto a website of tranny pictures and stories.
I should be proud... but I feel sick.
|23 Sep 2003||the gay||sorry phil. awww man i still can't accept that lucy's dead, phil. i'm gonna go start a religion where people worship the ms. cortina, and people slit themselves, and the men get naked.. uggh there's this fat kid (no offence to anyone) who's just harrassing me and threatening me just because i was gay, and since he's black i'm supposed to be afraid of him (no offence to black people either. fuck, am i going on in a prejudiced rampage?).
he's all just like, "have you ever had a black guy fuck up your face," and i'm like, "leave me alone you asshole, stop eating chicken wings so you won't get fat," what an idiot.
|20 Sep 2003||ronwelthy||hey steve what a good philosophy. Thinking everything is planned and that because you think about something worse it will always happened. It's like what I think there are the happy people who can make choices and the other who always end doing things they don't want to or things they are obliged to do because there are no more solutions.
Well that's a good idea but please Steve tell me what exactly Tylenol is because it could be useful in my case too
|20 Sep 2003||Phil||Why am I still here Steve? Well, why is anyone still here, posting on the suicide kit?
I have my reasons for being alive still, and they are nothing to do with this website at all. I do have a life, even if it's not much of one. I have been suicidal for a while and soon, let's just say soon, I may be dead. I think it's ok for me to post here still in my days before my demise. Lucy Cortina is dead, at least in name. I have to go now cos Beyonce is on the TV, shaking her...um....
Yes Steve, I'm gay, but have some strange obsession with breasts. I don't actually understand the point of them - they're so soft and gooshy and just lie there, doing nothing.
And yes gay punk, I may have been posting as someone before, lets just say. My boyfriend has changed his name now though, so don't worry about that ;)
And Naomi, we do care, more than you could imagine.
|19 Sep 2003||the gay punk||hey, phil, are you PC me, coz the guy's name is phil too and he's gay (soooorry for being dumb).|
|19 Sep 2003||Steve||I was curious, so I had to look up the word "pap" after reading your message. Another breast reference, how fitting. Thanks for the response though, if anything there's a slight comfort in knowing I'm not just talking to myself here.
Ok Phil, so was the part about you going off to commit suicide part of the story, because you're still here. I figure I don't have too much longer to go. Well, sometimes I'm not sure if I'll ever commit suicide at all, but my suicidal tendencies swing like a pendulum: I'll think I absolutely have to kill myself and then the urge will disappear for a while, and then it will come back with even more strength, and all the while, the space in between urges is getting less and less lengthy. Some day in the not-so-distant future (could be days, could be months, maybe even years) I'll probably finally become fully set on killing myself and go through with it right then and there. I'm feeling kind of scared and anxious right now, because after weeks of not having any strong urges, I feel as though I'm entering into a really suicidal state again and I may not make it through this time around.
It's unfortunate really. If I were speaking in my position a year ago, I'd have a great self-esteem, high hopes and no suicidal tendencies, but I feel completely different now. I feel as though my existence is a joke and I'm running out of reasons to continue. I'd love to go back to the mindset I had a year ago... perhaps I was ignorant... perhaps things were simply better... but I'm afraid I never can. Something in my mind clicked and ever since then I've been spiraling downward with no control.
|18 Sep 2003||ronwelthy||hey that's me again, the old ronwelthy, with his weird idea about the meaning of life, well to be true there is no meaning, you just have events who evolve in worst situation. It's like what we learn in philosophy about time, It began whith the Eden garden to finish with the detonations of bomb and the fire of hell. I just say this because I want to get recognition, and even if I am happy to be alive. My only problems is that I always live in my own dreams, imagining stories where I am a hero and I save an innocent girl called Aline, and you could not imagine how frustrated you are when you see her because you know she will never be lying on your side.
Well I know I am just writing about shit, and you don't care about the feelings of a poor little teenager lost in the big world. Well if you want to know more about me you will have to wait
I am almost at the bridge, gotta go now..
If you want to know what happened next just listen to the song Stan....