|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?
|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....
|18 Sep 2003||Phil||Steve, darling, don't talk pap. I found this site in the same way as yourself, but soon realised that, on closer inspection, the suicide kit was in fact a crazy, everything-allowed, um... story.
Look up "suicide kit" in your dictionary of choice, and hey presto, what do you find? Nothing! There is no definition to it.
I think that may be the whole point of it...?
|18 Sep 2003||Steve||Chris, sorry, but your reply is of no use. Everyone's seen that stupid "If the population of the world were 100" study and it has no bearing on the way anyone thinks. Saying "Fuck like there's no tomorrow" doesn't make anyone feel good either, let alone motivate them to actually get out and do it. Really, if someone has the urge to commit suicide, the last person who's going to stop them is some good samaritan who's just telling them to be more care-free and let things go.
This is one of the weirdest sites I've ever seen by the way. There's someone named Lucy (who most of you seem to be acquainted with for some odd reason) who talks about having big breasts, and then within the same post breaks down and says their name is really Phil and their identity has been a hoax. Then they say they're about to kill themself after visiting this site for x months. Well, given the fact that they seemed to have no problem creating and roleplaying a flamboyant identity for so long, I'd wonder if they're even telling the truth about their intended actions. Best of wishes to them anyhow.
I'm writing this and I have the topic line: "What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13?" staring me in the face and yet I haven't been writing messages in response to that question, nor have most other people. This ultimately just adds to the weirdness of the site, because the conception that people below 13 really even consider about suicide is ridiculous in itself, and no one seems interested in discussing such a strange topic. Perhaps I'm wrong, but this just seems more like a suicide discussion area. However, that description doesn't even fit sometimes, because there are all sorts of people jumping in with weird, irrelevant stories that look as if they were pasted straight out of a novel or something and have little or nothing to do with suicide.
Where am I going with this? Well, I'm curious to find out what some people here are thinking when they come in to post messages. Did they just wake up one morning and think "Hey, you know what, I'm going to look for a suicide page on the internet and paste some sort of fable onto their boards. That certainly won't bore or confuse any of the readers!" or perhaps "I'm going to find a suicide page on the internet and roleplay a woman with large breasts and talk about all my hilarious mishaps. That'll be right on topic." I'd just like to know, because I came here after doing a google search to look into suicide methods to see what methods might be bearable if I were to make the final decision to actually go through with it.
|17 Sep 2003||Phil||Vive le faggots, lol :)
I'm glad there is still some sanity left in the suicide kit, and my dear friends are all still here.
If I die, wish me luck. If I don't, well, wish me luck too!
|17 Sep 2003||the gay punk||Lucy (or Phil) !!!!
i know it's like so fucking late of me to be here to say whatever i want to say, (i had a "female problem") but
a) i can only dream about being like you
b) you're an inspiration to all of us, even though you might die or anything, you stayed on long enough, which is better than i can do
d) you will be missed
lucy, or phil, you are a goddess, and i'll kick Mother Mary's ass for you, or i'll do it for myself, because i never really liked her.
shit. i'm basicallly fucking blanking out right now. meerrrrr. i don't like being gay, but being gay is not a choice, vive le faggots. and nomed, FUCK YOU
|14 Sep 2003||Phil||Awwww Mouchette, now don't take the piss, I was being serious. I wouldn't kill myself because of the 'sea'.
There is a reason I found this website.
|13 Sep 2003||RedAlice||SYMPARANECROMENIAN CATASTROPHES. VOL.68
i don't know about you, but my fundamental character flaws are so deeply embedded in my consciousness, it actually feels as if they're intertwined with the strands of my DNA. Lately i like to imagine that as a child i was a sort of brand new, meat-based computer that had an operating system installed with big, whopping design problems. The result is that when my scanning mechanisms bring in data from my environment, i invariably process that data in ways that do not reflect reality.
Example: i walk into a room that contains people. They are speaking amongst themselves and laughing. My immediate computational response is summed up by a voice in my head which says, "They're laughing at me. Why are they laughing at me? i hate them." Or: i see, hear or read about someone who has achieved great success in my field. My organic computer processes this info and spits out, "Danger! Danger! Survival is threatened!" Are these fundamental character flaws? You focking bet! Taken to an extreme this sort of thinking can cause a lot of suffering -- and not just to me. In my rare moments of mental and emotional clarity i've come to realize that this is an unavoidable part of who i am. The trick now is to overcome or at least soften my flaws before i'm sent back to the factory as damaged goods. Example: When i wrongly think i'm the center of the universe and my problems take precedence over the problems of others, i pause and say to myself, "Error. You are useless, ugly, spotty, unutterably stenchful and unworthy of being loved." At which point i say, "Why should i listen to you? A broken computer can't repair a broken computer." At which point i put myself into sleep mode before the whole system crashes.
Hang in there Phil.
Help is on the way...
|13 Sep 2003||nomeD cilegnA|| Dope. Springs. Eternal.
Phil was excited about his upcoming death. He rented a medium-priced banquet hall and invited all of his friends, family and co-workers to the happy event. But when the big day arrived, many were confused. There was Phil, walking and talking, actually having quite a good time. What kind of death was this? What Phil had failed to explain in the invitations was that the death he was celebrating was that of his carefully constructed ego. From this day on, Phil would cease to be Phil (except for tax purposes). For all other purposes he would simply be a continuously unfolding manifestation of the universe -- a process not a thing. He tried to explain how blissfully liberating this was, that this was the enlightenment sought by wise men throughout the ages, but no one really understood. Of course it didn't help matters much that he kept pestering several female guests to show the continuously unfolding manifestation their sweater puppies.
|13 Sep 2003||Phil||Well gosh, silly me, of course Mouchette.
Everyone knows Fernando Pessoa!
True to form, I am still here.
|12 Sep 2003||black devil||Love is an illusion, that's what we learned today in philosophy, we are not loved for ourselves, but for our qualities, just because we are this or that, girls come around you, and they exchange their feelings, they talk all night.
But what could you say to someone who doesn't have any qualities, someone who is outside the circle, who has no one to talk to?
Sad vision, I think you must be crying, thinking of how sad you feel when you have no qualities to share with other people. Well that's my portrait. The portrait of a poor lonesome guy who ran away twice in order to find a better vision, a mirror where he could look at and say you are the one I have been looking for. That was just a dream, because all men have to follow their way, in hapiness or in sadness, have to face laughs or tears. My life has sunk deeper and deeper and now I cannot find hope
|12 Sep 2003||Mouchette Mackellar||Once upon a time there was a wave. The name of the wave was, no surprise, Phil. Phil the wave. Phil was a big, powerful wave. His massive blue body surged across the surface of the ocean with great majesty and deceptive speed. Oh yes, Phil was quite a wave. From the moment he rose up from the ocean he felt special. He felt invincible. Ferocious storms battered him with wind and rain, great ships sliced through his very heart, and yet he rolled on. It was not for him to stop and consider the other waves. To stop was to die. Waves have to keep moving... or else. But then one day Phil saw a strange darkness on the horizon and, for the first time in his life, felt fear. What could it be? Was it connected to the laughing creature sliding across his face on a piece of wood? But before he could make sense of it all, he crashed down into the darkness. For a brief moment he felt a weird, splashing feeling, then oblivion. Phil was no more. He was now a part of the sea. And as we all know, the sea loves to make waves.|
|11 Sep 2003||Lucy Cortina||Hi people! I'm back! Well, I'm gone.
Dear dear, the suicide kit has descended into chaos. Billy is back (my god! they actually released you from the psychiatric unit after your hands-up-Lucy's-knickers incident?)
Anyway. Here is me, a single person. I'm not part of the mass manufactured stories or fancy names that plague this site from jealous wannabes. I'm just me: bog-standard, big-breasted, Lucy Cortina. Or am I...?
Actually, I'm not. This confession may shock the whole of this world. More shocking than being bisexual or being a vegisexual (being plain old boring 'Gay' just isn't enough these days - no offence to you, Gay Punk).
So, who am I?
Hehe, this brings back memories. Those lazy days with Felicia in my living room, eating cornflakes, and me standing there holding a bottle of milk and saying "mooo", but Felicia still not knowing that I was being a cow.
Well, it may be a further shock to know that I have never even met Felicia. I'm not sure if she even exists. That is because, I, Lucy Cortina, do not exist myself.
Lucy Cortina, then what are you darling? The suspense is killing us! We are on the verge of swallowing our cocktails of paracetamol and Valium. Do hurry it up, darling.
And, another point worth inserting here, I really can't be arsed with trying very very very hard today to end up under Mouchette's favourites list. It once held appeal, when I was so bored and depressed and had nothing better to do. When I didn't have a life. I still don't have a life. But I will soon have death.
So, anyway, yes. It's me, Lucy. No fancy sub-names, just the regular depressed girl, not quite perfect, posting here on the spurr of the moment, without need for competing. But hang on! You aren't real Lucy!
That's right. I'm actually, what for it....
Ok, so I'm not Buddha. I'm a boy. I'm 17. I have known of this website for years, since 1999 at least. or is it 2000? I'm not sure. Anyway. I found this site on the first stages of my franctic search for the meaning of life. (Death, that is. Or for the technical wahlers, 'suicide').
I found this site, read the stoopid, yet intriguing, posts. Went away for a bit. Came back. Went away. Came back. Got an intense desperate urging lust to be in Mouchie's favourites list. Did it. Kept doing it. It got boring. When the "pretenders" popped up like all the little girly singers did when Britney Spears arrived, to steal Lucy's thunder (or even her breasts!), I decided that life was too short, and tried to get one (a life, that is).
I have Social Anxiety Disorder, and Depression, an eating disorder, and probably a whole list of other possible illnesses. I hate life. I have this past to deal with too. Everything's crap. My name is Phil.
Lucy Cortina is as fake as Britney Spears' whole music career. (Or her breasts).
Ok, maybe she isn't. Who knows. Maybe Lucy Cortina was my way of airing some of the crazy thoughts in this head of mine. Maybe she was the outlet for many things.
But, sorry people, I was never real.
My name is Phil. And I will soon be dead. No, I'm not just messing about like many people do. I have it planned to every detail. No one will stop me.
I just want to say, goodbye suicide kit. Goodbye Billy, Felicia, all the others. I don't know who you all are in real life, if you made up a persona like me, but thanks for the entertaining reads every day when I get into this room and switch on my PC, after another day of hell, another day of life. Another day of everyone talking about me, of people hating me (yes ok I admit it, I'm a teenager yapping on about my problems and will probably launch into a "poor me!" child abuse story here if someone doesn't stop me). So I will stop myself.
Umm, anyway, yeah. I will be dead soon. Lucy Cortina ends here. She had a nice and eventful life. I hope Mouchie keeps everything in small archived files in his cellar full of wine and cheese, so that one day the suicide kit will become a Hollywood production (you're aiming bit high there, Lucy!). I guess Lucy Cortina was the suicide kit slut. Sending pictures of naked ladies in underwear privately to Mouchette was the only reason I stayed Top Girl. Or was it? I'm not sure.
Anyhow, incase you are crying into your cocktails by now, or in the case of Billy, crying into your condoms, I love you all, and remember darlings, we are all going to somewhere better soon, that big breast factory in the sky. The purpose of this little community was only meant to be brief, as all here are suicidal (aren't we?). I never meant to live this long. Maybe it was you, Mouchette. Maybe it was someone else, in fact, I know it was- my Danny. But maybe I'm just an insane, gay, 17 year old teenager. Maybe Lucy Cortina was part of my mind personified. Yes, that will be it.
So, no breasts, no SSSS, no sister, none of all that nonsense. Still, it was fun, wasn't it?
Take care people. Good luck with your deaths. If you wanna contact me - not that you would - but I will be alive maybe a while yet (but Lucy ends here). Leave your email addresses, and I will email you.
RIP Lucy Cortina.
*Lucy leaves the room, leaving the occupants of the suicide kit free to release the farts or whatever else they were keeping in, in fear of upsetting Lucy during her important speech*
*Lucy enters room again, to an awful smell. She splutters out a few last words:
"Mouchette, I think you owe us all a small explanation. WHO, exactly, are you?"
...then leaves the room*
And everybody claps.
FINALLY, she has shut up whining, and gone!
|12 Jul 2003||Phil||Good morning Charlie! Or good morning Moucchie, rather!! Ok time to get this serious, this aint charlies angels. I dont have an amazing ass like Cameron Diaz. I am not an amazing and beautiful singer like britney spears. oh hang on... shes not an amazing singer, thats right.
She came from a mickey mouse show and now christina aguilera is fisting her and riding on motorbikes..
even I can do better.
no i cant. well, i wanna organise a suicide group pact. I want to get the biggest group together ever to do a suicide. like in the Simpsons with David Blaine and they all died in front of the white house.
this may not be as glamourous.. but we can all die in front of Britney Spears' hotel room... and give her a shock.
It wont be long before she gets drunk on a park bench after poor record sales, and tops herself.
|03 Jul 2003||will||hmmm, no such luck phil. my other half swallowed lime scale remover today! she thought it was lemonade, duhh. even im not that stupid. well, most of the time im not. believe that and you'll believe anything lol.|
|02 Jul 2003||Phil||when someone helps u Will, give me a bell... I wanna die too..|
|25 Jun 2003||phil||pierre, good on you if u end up dead, im jealous. i wish i had the courage to go through with suicide. but no, i have to live in pain for many reasons. *sob sob*|
|15 Jun 2003||Sethron||Dare we speak of such disturbing matters? *The evil grin slowly draws across her lips* Suicide is a work of art--and skill. You have to do it without maiming the body. After all, if they can't identify you, how can the necrophiliacs have their lovely dreams of taking their fun with young children come true? Tie yourself up in a garbage bag, Darling, and wait for the oxygen to run out.|
|16 May 2003||Felicia the unexpected||Felicia's useless facts:
Rosey O'Donnell is not gay.
(She was a manic depressive to begin with.)
The laughing cow on the butter box did not laugh just for posing. She had her udders tickled.
The Cadbury Bunny didn't lay eggs, but gave birth to marshmallow bunny peeps.
Tom Arnold did not marry Rosanne for money, but who would believe that one.
On higher elevations, cookies don't bake the same as lower elevation cookies. They puff up and burn, then you toss them.
Drinking your own pee is not insanitary or is it? Well it does come out of your own body. (I was told this and it grossed me out, so I might as well share this with you anyway.)
To be vain is okay. To be overly vain is the same. To be too vain, is bad. Overly? What the heck, who cares?
All "Gothic" people love black only. Not true. I wear black all the time just to hide my "very gross" veins.
Bras in the beginning were first used as sling shot weapons. The cave woman that slingshot her prey for the lazy cave husband, was distracted by her shaking boobs, used the slingshot as backup to prevent herself from tripping.
When you want revenge on a one night stand philanderer, buy a pregnancy test kit. Mark the window indicator with a red pen, tell him that your pregnant. Wait nine months later, feign having a baby, and collect child support from that dumb ass twat. Ooooh! That's bad. For best results, if the incident happened around July, wait till the beginning of April and say out loud, "April Fools!"
This Mouchette site was set up by an org of Cirque Du Soleil mimes.
No offense to my friends. Have a nice evening.
-Not the end-
|13 May 2003||PC me||I wana use this website for a dedication to my lovely boyfriend Derek. Like they do on radio when they play a song and dedicate it to some old biddy that is half deaf anyway.
This one is for you, my sweet Derek. From your Phil. I love you today and always.
- - - oh yeh u mite also b able to tell from this that im gay. im a fag. wow! how shocking! its like Lucy Cortina WITHOUT breasts but WITH a bra!