|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?
|05 Jun 2004||Gingerbread Man||Lie awake at night. Remember every time when you didn't do what you should've, because you were lazy, or embarassed. Think of how pathetic it is that you're contemplating suicide. Make sure all those revealing poems and diary entries you've written are burnt, and write a few more, as eloquently as you can, so you know that when you die, people will have something to remember you by- otherwise, how do you know they'll remember you? Next, think about the time when you'll throw yourself in front of a train. But of course, it's never worth getting up at midnight, to walk all that way to the train line. So maybe you should go onto the internet, and ask people if you should commit suicide, because you're so empty, and lonely...
Alternatively, you could funnel all that emotion into something else... start a band, or write stories or film that people empathise with. Make some money that way. Become a FIGURE. Then commit suicide. Drugs overdose is always good. Or a gun. Or you could coat yourself in petrol, go into the middle of a cathedral, or church service, and start playing with matches. Swallow some petrol. Ram your head into the computer monitor you're using to read this- after all, all that electricity and glass? you're sure to die.. Or maybe you don't want to die- you just don't want that feeling of emptiness, and you just *know* that there's no-one else you can talk to. But there is. And this is where you are. Here. So TALK. (maybe it's a good plan not to ramble too much....)
|05 Jun 2004||billy the freak||if mouchette had a soundtrack it would be the album that played and played till it burned a tiny bit of information somewhere in the information soup that brews in my head. i would play it till the beat in my step, the pulse in my vains runs in syncronized waves to the bass line. it will be the music that gets me jiggly and wiggly till i want to dance. it would be what i pump through my head phones at night to put me to sleep...
i had a dream i was walking through a museum that had all the existing dali paintings on display. strangely i was the person in the hall enjoying these masterful works of surrealism.
the walls started to creak and bend, grone and twist till all the walls and all the paintings formed a huge sphere around me. the sphere started to spin so rapidly that the paintings no longer had any definition. they started to mix and churn. then the sphere slowed down to where i could see again. somehow all the paintings joined together to to create this vast concave world. i floated to the ground for what seamed an eternity. when i finally came close enough to define the landscapes, i saw lakes that seemed to float above the ground, mountains that took the form of human bodies, trees that if i looked at them right side up i would see a heard of stomping elephants. if i where to spin upside down (which i did many time as i fell) it looked as if it were a group of beautiful swans. if i looked directly in the middle all saw was trees. sudenlly i fell past an circus elephant, before i knew it i hit a huge pile of grasshoppers.
they all jumped away from me leaving me unhurt and standing on the ground. i looked all around. the first thing i noticed was the elephant i passed on the way down. it was at least one hundred feet in the air walking on what seemed to be stilts, on further inspection they where the beasts legs. i saw that the monster was walking my way and was bound to pass over me. remembering my days as billy the shit boy when i cleaned up after elephants in the circus, i decided move in case the the giant wanted to relieve itself. i looked at my watch and it started to get flacid the numbers melted into the face plate. the hands spinned so rapidly they spinned right off and in the air. eventually the watch just dripped of my wrist. i guess that is why they call dali's paintings timeless. well, since time was no object i decided to look around...
to be continued
|27 May 2004||AWAKE||Its so quiet here sometimes that i find myself ceaselessly arriving at that familiar feeling that i am one of the few that is awake .... and wandering around within a hologram managed by a main computer on board a massively large and complex ship drifting aimlessly in outer space .... its destination unknown to us, yet known to the architects of the hologram. And so we find ourselves navigating through the psychology of a greater machine, preparing us for something we have neither conception nor expression of.
We are ghosts within the machine .... believe it.
|25 May 2004||Morgen Todt||Metastasize at will ....
I think you are invoking the great deity when looking at the tsimtsum and wondering at the reflection you see there ....
When i was a kid i would wander far and wide. My family lived in the woods and when i would get home from school i would follow deer paths for miles. Other days i would wander along the coastline, and there was this summer home that i would pass by. It was in disrepair and near the shoreline there was a meditation pool that was surrounded by weeds and thornbushes.
i would go there and play with the gigantic carp that appeared to be so numerous at the surface that they were all cramed in there .... they looked to have been growing for a long time... and so i would reach in and try to grab one and no matter how full that pool looked to me, everytime i made the attempt they would disappear. i wonder now if there were really any fish in that water at all, and if what i saw then was just the projection of anothers meditation, finding me decades later.
In the winter i would go there, and even when the water was iced over i could see the fish underneath it, and they were always there, just hanging out being fish and waiting for the spring to come.
Maybe it was a magical pool of water....
|17 May 2004||elaine||Mouchette,
you know what i realised tonight? Nobody on this site of yours tells people about themselves, save that they want to die or that they want to help you with your sorrow. As if we're supposed to get an understanding of their character from that. Sometimes we hear stories, narratives and poems and reasons (all of which are valid) that a given person has for dying. Only, these are all indirect ways of introducing oneself.
And really, aren't we all here looking for understanding?
Thats a coarse way of putting it, but maybe you understand what i mean.
Today im sick to death of ambiguity, so im going to make this understanding thing a little easier.
Im a 17-year old kid, and my names not really elaine. I live in the bible-belt of the united states, only im atheist. I went to Prom last night. I play the bass clarinet in my high school band. I have blonde hair and blue eyes and my favorite authors are Tolstoy, Jane Austen, Salinger, and Kafka. My favorite band is Radiohead.
So thats what i am, and im telling you this not because i enjoy being made vulnerable (what else is telling to unkown people intimate details of my life) but because im sick of feeling like ive got something to hide from. More than that, sick of being afraid of sharing myself.
"At least you know there won't be any goddam ulterior motives in this madhouse. Whatever we are, we're not fishy, buddy."
|17 May 2004||Chris||Argh, I'm still here, and a bigger loser than ever. I've just lost two pounds and I'm devastated. Yes, I know that that statement makes me sound like the meanest person on earth, after all who could be so upset at losing a couple of pounds. But the fact is, that was two pounds too far when added to the probably hundreds I have lost over the years. I'm not describing the results of a gambling problem or even acute carelesness with money but a complete inability to successfully complete any transaction with a machine. This latest drain on my definitely finite resources came as result of simply wanting to buy an international phone card from an automated vending machine. It came as no surprise that this particular piece of technology ate my two pounds note. I have had a running battle with vending machines since I could reach a chocolate machine with a few quid. I have grown used, over the years, to coming away from these encounters poorer in cash and magnificently unencumbered by the goods or services I was hoping for.
When my mate gives me money to deal with the vending machine in a car park, car parks consistently refuse to let us in and if they do, then as sure as night follows day we will be begging someone to help raise the barrier to let us out. The government health authority could save themselves the trouble of trying to stop me smoking by the simple expediency of making cigarettes only available from machines, at a stroke I would then be totally unable to ever get hands on a packet.
I dare not even contemplate the world of ATM cash machines which everyone else finds so convenient, knowing as I do, that my card will only disappear but my pressing the wrong button I will instantly transfer my meagre savings to some fucking girl's account miraculously (which is just a staging post for it before it then finds itself in the account of a shoe shop)!
So here I am halfway through the first decade of the twenty first century completely in the thrall of inanimate vending machines which continue to cast their evil influence over me and my cash, and as each year passes it becomes increasingly worse... I admit it. The machines have me beaten.
See ya all in hell.
|14 May 2004||Snails survived slowly||After a pleasantly pointless day, I lay down and wandered. Far, far away.
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white;
water, desert, translucent gel, glass at night.
Snails, feet, hide out from the ocean on crab street!
Out with the next two exhalations of air
went the excess of energy that caused thoughts to blaire.
Slowly now I crept round in my head,
slithering and squirming, staying still in my bed.
The imaginary creatures there
I could now see - and even hear what they said:
Dont step on the cracks when standing on breaking ice
a motherly pair of legs warned.
If you stand underwater, wear something nice
a fatherly wolf-like animal scorned.
An old man melted away and left a clock.
Pouting giants the color of the sky mock.
People line up and wait for wednesday.
In the group there is one whom I used to know.
Tambourine talk takes so much time.
How much smoother it slides to crush bugs
and have you interpret the patterns.
But soon I felt guilty for what I had said.
So guilty that my hand turned to glass
and I almost wanted to be away from here, back in bed.
I jumped underwater, hoping my life would pass.
But when my last seconds I was counting
My air fills with lungs, Im not drowning
Finally I awoke, a little more aware
things are real because they are believed to be
and this thought took away all reason to despair.
|07 May 2004||Morgan Todt||Lay with me and thrust into my flesh and feast upon me...
For you are my lover. You are my lover. And the only thing that makes me bleed is my own mutilation...
Can i understand empty hatred and what gives it birth? Understand frailty in another human being and seeing something in them that dims the very intensity of my own intellectuality?
Understand why a misconnection deepens or why it fades? Perhaps.
Eating of weeds. Drinking of rain. And an overdose of Introspection.
i've been reading an autobiography called Drinking The Rain (Alix Kates Shulman). The author startles family and friends by choosing a life of solitude on an island off the coast of Maine over her sociable and active life of many years in Manhattan. Her story is not only an acute observation and accounting of poignant aspects of New York City, but in her island isolation 'thinking long thoughts,' and the practice of things that take time: making bread, reading books by the light of the fireplace in her island cabin, carefully examining the body of a dead seal that has washed up on the beach, and reflecting on the process of going into herself after a lifetime of adapting to others. Amor fati....
Ms Shulman observes her former anxieties over 'the state of the world and the weight of years' as a burden lifted away. Her peace comes by the acceptance of what she finds and who she is in her aloneness. As a former networking activist in the Second Wave of the women's movement and now 'a quiet person,' she realizes that life can hold many seemingly conflictive selves and it is pointless to choose among what she calls the 'impulses' that live inside us. The shore's appearance is constantly changing, she notes. One's life has room for all that resides in it. She has embraced simplicity and is discovering how little she actually needs to have everything. She answers to no one, follows her interests deeply, and will change rules for herself when she wants.
Set free in her solitude.
No longer adjusting to the needs of anyone but herself. Eating weeds 'gifts of sustenance'. Drinking rain.
|06 May 2004||Some old Slapper who loves to hate Mouchette.... and Morgan Todt||For some reason I've made it my business to slam Morgan Todt. I don't like her. She tries to write gracefully but her messages suck.
First of all, we can see viruses.... with a microscope. Second, who in society is giving you the message, what you see is what you get? I don't remember hearing that anywhere. But anyway, I can't see you, why do I believe you exist? I can't see my brain, why do I believe it exists? Because I am conditioned to? I don't think so. There's good evidence for it.
No Morgan, it is not strange that people look up into the night sky and have a hard time believing in God. One good reason is because when people think of God, they think of that stupid ass mother fucker God that is presented in the bible. Surely the universe would be insane if that crazy son of a bitch actually existed. I would have to kill myself.... or kill him. Talk about cultural conditioning!!!! Hmmmm, you don't think people have been conditioned to believe in the Bible based on.... nothing convincing, in my opinion.... although in my own words I would say something like, "stupid ass old bull shit that doesn't even fuckin matter anymore". "This is it, what you see is what you get" sounds familiar. Sounds like the bible, sounds like religion.
But anyway, on a positive note, when people look up in the night sky, most DO NOT have trouble having a feeling of awe and wonder at the universe, and ponder questions of life. I don't know who you've been hanging around. However, people do, as they should, have a hard time comprehending how a fucked up psycho bastard like the Christian God could possibly exist. And that is a good thing because he does not exist.
In conclusion Morgan, only you are the one who thinks that people are too stupid to comprehend the greatness of the universe and only you assume what you see is what you get.
|03 May 2004||Morgen Todt|| How does it feel, being finally unlatched from pain? i am here to welcome you.
i've greeted many.
If you nursed one unacted wish before, if you loved someone who ignored you, here that yen has already been fulfilled to the point of sorest satiation. Find it well-stowed in the gelid honeyed aspic of collective memory. This is not the zone of Desires Transacted. Here lies the zone of Desires Recalled.
Maybe you wish you had once wisely broken a rule...
or brought an end to your own life. ~Done.
Everyone and you are interchangeable, best friends. You have entered a domain of ease and genius known as Play. Competition has become forever expunged.
Here, everyone's achievement becomes Everyone's, circular. The glad ironies pile up, and our useless bodies right along with them.
|29 Apr 2004||Morgen Todt||The more i investigate the non-realm that lies just beyond, beneath or throughout the non-realm i think we're in, the more i'm convinced that it will take the Heart of Antigone to continue. i suppose part of the reason for that is it requires courage to not be seduced by the comfort level generated by this particular illusion. Isn't it easier to just lay back and slap-slide into the daily grind of discorporation? And then there's the cultural conditioning which proclaims, "This is it! What you see is what you get." Now, let's think about that for a moment. What we see is what we get. Hmmm...
We can't see electrons. We can't see a virus. We can't see getting an honest profit participation in anything we write -- and yet we still believe these things exist.
Which brings me to God. Isn't it strange that we can look up at a night sky, at a majestic mountain, at the inane beauty of this very websight, and have trouble believing in God?
But i digress.
|29 Apr 2004||Mouchette||MY SUICIDE
Cut the eyes out of my head - Tear my tongue out if I speak. Raise up your camera, raise up the lights - feed the evil and the weak. Hear me now, my tongue is in your ear, the center of your body is the place I hide the fear I lost of suicide ...
Suck the hatred from my mouth - Raise the dead man that you found, Seal the black mud in my lungs, leave me down here drowning with the wasted and the stunned, Leave me now as I choke and writhe, but feel my body stuck upon the dull and pointless knife of my suicide ...
Remove my face from in your mirror, sift my grey hair in the fire. Now mock me for the suffering I fake, leave me naked on the carpet, leave my drunken body splayed. See me now, my broken fingers search your mouth for the drugged and senseless words that are seducing me back home into my suicide ...
I hate you all for what I've done, I hate you for the texture and the color of your skin, I hate your whispered breath upon my neck, I hate you for your love and I hate you for sex. Feel me now, I'm growing in your insides, the warm feelings that you bring contain the seed now flowering into my suicide ...
|28 Apr 2004||Some old slapper who loves to hate Mouchette||Hey Morgen Todt, don't worry too much about that good feeling of "love" you have for strangers. That feeling will soon fade away and you will be back to your old hating self in no time. What you think is an epiphany is very temporary.
Life doing the best that it can eh? How do you know they're doing the best they can? It's impossible for someone to do life half assed? Or quarter assed?
And Mouchette, shame on you for putting Morgen's answer in your favourites section. How cliche! What's the matter with you? The answers you put in your favourite section are all STUPID!!!!
|27 Apr 2004||Morgen Todt||Krisha still had vivid memories of when her mind was a quiet, useful ally -- a handy-dandy accessory that would discreetly remind her not to stick her little Krisha fingers into light sockets. But that was long ago. Krisha's mind was now in full revolt. One moment it would be idling nicely, waiting to notice, judge, critique or consider -- then, without warning, like a spider monkey on metha-amphetamines, it would start thinking ugly, angry, snarling monstrosities.
Krisha didn't know what to do. It was the only mind she had. And then she realized, it was out of her control because it was never her mind. It was just some scanning mechanism generated by billions of years of evolution, genetics, and conditioning.
That made Krisha feel better. At least until #*&^ #&$^ ^# mEeP ^%$^&!#^grrrrr %^%_+ +*&^) &% MWHA-HA-HA!&&*( &^ *&*&78=07 WHOOO-gaa !$^& )argeep++tynoop! &*
|26 Apr 2004||Morgen Todt||i recently found myself in a room with a group of complete strangers. As each one spoke, i noticed i was making a snap judgement about that person. Sometimes the judgement was warm and appreciative. But more often, it was of the "Fuck, what a vacuum tube this guy is" variety. At first i was troubled by this ugly mental reflex. But then i was hit with a flash of insight. As i gazed around the room i realized that if each person was animated by the same energy -call it God, call it carbon-based, chemical doowhackies -- then each person was essentially Life doing the best that it can. Suddenly my judgements were replaced by a pervasive feeling of love.
Emboldened by my epiphany, i meditated upon a relative with whom i'd recently had difficult relations. i visualized this person not as an arrogant dickslap winter-wooskie, but as "life doing the best that it can." Which is when my insight grew deeper...
I now believe that the ability to suspend judgement and flow love works really well with complete strangers.
|14 Apr 2004||Ghost of Lucy Cortina (Phil)||I very rarely look at Mouchie's death-kit these days, but I'm glad I do. It was in fact a post by, I think, Elaine, that touched me and prompted me to post on this occasion. I also see and am shocked to learn that my now dead alter-ego, Lucy Cortina, (as if MY big ego would ever die!), is now on the famous users list. Yay! For someone like me, that is like winning 20 lotteries, and American Idol 2.
I am going to leave an email address this time, but before any Lucy booby-stalkers start celebrating, it IS an address that I use very little.
I miss being Lucy Cortina. It was such fun. I loved being inside a girls body. Hang on... that sounds rude. I must stress that I would NEVER want to be inside a poosy.
Not being Lucy anymore is like a starvation. It's like Pavarotti on a diet. Sat at the cafe, and suddenly the phone rings:
"Step away from the chocolate muffin..." (and cake, and cookies, and doughnuts, and fries, and tiramissu, and potato chips...)
Anyway, that's what it's like.
I hear that Lucy's rival, Titney Spears, is doing a suicide, yes a suicide scene in her next music video. How dare she!!! She is stealing all of her ideas from the suicide kit, and most importantly, the now deceased Lucy Cortina! Ok, Britney CAN be sexy, she can have large boobies (since theyre not real anyway), and she can have blonde hair (or red, or black, or whatever colour it currently is...)
But suicide is not her thing - she has never experienced true suicidal hell in all her life. Suicide is OUR realm, not hers.
*As a point of interest, if a man squeezed Britney's fillets, would that be considered as cheating? (since her fillets are not real anyway?)
Ok, I shouldn't push this any longer, so I will end my monthly mouchette visit here. Feel free to email me anyone...
Take care darlings,
|12 Apr 2004||Joyce||Believe your emotional vampire personality disordered histrionic sister that a)you will never get a boyfriend b)that everyone will hate you c)that you are butt ugly and gawky d)that you will be the laughing stock in high school e)that your nose is way too big and your feet are flippers f)that you are a clutz g)allow her to destroy all of your friendships that you are wierd and perverted without defending yourself h)let her snoop through all of your things so she can rat on you to your mom i) believe her when she tells you that you were an oops never meant to be born j) let her blame you for everything that went wrong with her relationship with her mother when mom dies k) listen to her laments about having a bunch of hicks for a family and that your brother is a retard l) laugh when she sings perverted songs about your father and mother m)allow her to molest you and promise not to tell anyone n)believe it when she says you are toad eyes and should hide because you are ugly o)believe it when she is anorexic and shoves lettuce under the table ledge and tells you she is pretty and little and small and you are a big gawky failure p) believe her that you are the one who has not been a good sister q)allow her to come to your wedding and interview your maid of honor so she can blackmail you r)allow her access to your children s)let her meet the guys you are dating so she can ruin those relationships t) follow her advice to dye your hair blonde, wear pale pink lipstick and not eat u) allow her to stuff as much popcorn into your mouth as she would really like v) always give her home made Christmas gifts that she will turn into accounts of your being cheap and selfish w) accept the blame when she accuses you of not showing up for dinner when she never invited you in the first place x) allow her to see something you are especially proud of - like a college degree or diamond tennis bracelet y) let her become friends with your ex-husband so she can side with him z)let her steal all of your ideas from writing published poetry, playing guitar, working as a secretary, planting a secret garden, and being an individual. From A to Z you see my sister's the ultimate suicide for any young girl.|
|06 Apr 2004||Chris||Lots of boys list one of their reasons (or their only reason for that matter) of wanting to commit suicide as their girlfriend or just a girl. I read some posts by certain girls which I never understand...
I make no secret of the fact that I don't, never have and never will understand women. My mom, & other girls I meet and the strange way their mind works is as much a mystery to me today as it was on the first day I started processing stuff in my mind and I accept the fact that it will always remain that way. I find comfort in the knowledge that most men are in the same boat as me and no logic, rhyme or reason can be found in the female thought process. I have tried, I really have. I read the book 'Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus' from cover to cover to try and learn to understand what makes the other half tick but to no avail. At my college, females outnumber males by a great number, but contrary to what you may imagine that only deepens the mystery known as woman.
The internet which is a source of enlightenment for everything else doesn't help but it can be a place where you can find kindred spirits sharing their take on the female mindset. The other day I was browsing and came across something which, if nothing else, made me aware that I am in a huge worldwide club of baffled men. Read this translation of 'Femtalk' and see how familiar it sounds.
Yes= No; No= Yes; Maybe= No; We need= I want; I'm sorry= You'll be sorry; We need to talk= I need to complain; Sure= go ahead; I don't want you to see my butt fat= Tell me I'm beautiful; Do what you want= You'll pay for this later; I'm not upset= Of course I'm upset, you moron!; Are you listening to me?= Too late, you're dead!; You have to learn to communicate= Just agree with me; Be romantic, turn out the lights= I have flabby thighs; You're so... manly= You need to shave and sweat a lot; Do you love me?= I'm going to ask you for something very expensive; It's your decision= The correct decision should be obvious by now; You're certainly very attentive tonight= Is sex all you ever think about?; I'll be ready in a minute= Kick off your shoes and find a good game on TV; How much do you love me?= I did something today that you're really not going to like.
And here are some things most men would like women to know but are too scared to tell them.
Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down, we need it up you need it down. You don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down; Shopping is NOT a sport. And no, we are never going to think of it that way; Crying is blackmail; Ask for what you want... let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it!; Yes and No are perfecly adequate answers to almost every question; A headache which lasts for seventeen months is a problem, see a doctor; Anything we said six months ago is inadmissable in an argument; If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing", we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle; You have too many shoes; I am in shape. Round is a shape!
Of course there must be the reverse side of the coin and I am certain that there are similar lists which apply to men out there. I'm sure that someone like elaine can enlighten us all on the subject...
See ya girlies...
|27 Mar 2004||Max||"A Chinaman
went to sleep
dreamed he was
when he awoke,
he asked himself,
Am I a butterfly
dreaming that I am a man?
I love this quote, despite the fact that some people might think it corny. Do you know that you have control over what is real and what is not far more that you believe you do? (Although you might at first say obviously not, on account of how this is worded, that is not entirely true.)
|24 Mar 2004||Kylie Minogue||Your life feels different to you, once you greet Death and understand your heart's position. You wear your life like a garment from the mission bundle-sale ever after ---
lightly because you realize you never paid for it,
cherishingly because you know you won't ever come by such a bargain again.