|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 Feb 2004||Chris||Recently I was enthroned in the bathroom which, for reasons obvious to anyone who has been unlucky enough to follow me in, is the one place on earth where I am left undisturbed, and my gaze wandered to the contents of the shelves. I am not referring to the books and magazines which I always like to have at hand, I did say this is a place of peace and retreat for me as well as the functional. I mean the dozens of bottles, canisters, jars, etc which we all seem to need to make ourselves presentable. And a thought struck me... how come with half of the world starving do we have so much fruit and veg in our shampoos and soaps. I am sure that my bathroom is pretty average and really taking a close look I was amazed at the sheer variety of flavours on offer. From the mint in the toothpaste the list grows and grows; lemon, lime, pineapple, coconut, orange, cucumber and dates, and that's just the shampoos. I am not counting Aloe Vera or Jojoba because I really don't know what they are or if they are edible but they certainly form a big part of my mother's beauty regime judging by the number of products which include them as ingredients. Then there are the soaps, creams and ointments which boast cherry, blueberry, primrose, oil, carrot, yes carrots in the soap! There is even a bottle of chocolate bath bubbles but that is mine, and I'm saving it for emergencies. There are various other things which claim essence of this and that but again I'm not sure what they are. There is also a packet of scented (camomile) toilet paper, the function and practicality of which even defies my odd imagination and I'm not even touching the realm of air fresheners and things which make water turn blue in the toilet bowl. The fact is our bathrooms are host to more tastes and aromas than Harrod's Food Hall but that's not it... they all claim to be able to do their various tasks with sound effects... the soap 'zings'! The shampoo puts 'zest' into your shower! The sprays 'zap'! And the bleach 'blasts'... now I think about it, the bathroom has stopped being my peaceful refuge but it has become a terrific place to dream up recipes... Maybe that will put my mind off suicide!
See ya all in the bathroom!
|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.
|03 Feb 2004||doraine||tonight is the night for me. I am not a fighter you see but in amerika there are radio stations who will call people into the ring and give them 90 to box out anger. I am scared because I don't box. I will do it though. I am on 2000 mg of Depakote and 20mg of Zypreza and doctors say my mind still functions at rates they have never seen. OH MOUCHETTE what does this mean? Everwhere I live everything is familiar- strange times we are in and I feel like Sam Taylor Coleridge back from the dead and I am drunk on the milk from mother earth's tit. I might die tonight but hey I win a prize. no real gas chambers just radio waves. In life or death I CHOOSE LIFE, and tonight I will fight for real in a boxing ring with another woman to save people I love that are being looked over. DON'T DIE TONIGHT PEOPLE: re.live with me and give me power not to die as I enter the ring of radio death. RADIO KILLED THE VIDEO STAR. digital killed the video star. Who am I?|
|26 Jan 2004||Felicia Born in the Monkey Year||Hi Joe Lee,
Happy New Chinese "Year of the Monkey" to you too. People call me lousy because they think that people born in this monkey year is tricky and hard to fool.
I get tricked all the time and I am made a fool of most of the time. And being a Gemini too is a lot worst. Now everybody says I am tricky, hard to fool, and two faced.
All I need is a cheer up and some chinese new year money to come my way. But I haven't been to Vegas yet and don't know how to play poker or yatzhee. I don't know how to play chess either and scrabble for that matter.
Sad. Sad. Sack. Oh well.
|24 Jan 2004||Joe Lee||Welcome to China where life isn't worth a dime unless you are foreigners!
The ten ranking for the value of human life in China for the year of 2004!
1. United States
3. United Kingdom
7. Japan (price negotiable if you or your parents involved in World War 2)
You should be honored if you are the lucky citizen of these great countries. I welcome you, the citizens of top ten countries come to China and commit suicide! Your life cost a lot! We will have the honor of killing you and your family members. Money doesn't mean anything to you, you deserve only the best way to die. Checks or visa available in 2004 for citizens of France, Japan, Finland, Greece, and Luxembourg.
If you are unfortunately the citizen of following countries:
Year of the monkey is the year for people from destitute countries! We will kill you for almost free if you can ever make it to China. Please prepare your own body bags if you don't want to be made into fertilizers.
And yes, we prepare diverse killing methods way beyond legal boundary for the top ten countries. We are the best in the business of euthanasia if you are too weak to do it yourself. Eu-than-asia... I love this word. aisanahtue - sounds good even if you spell it backwards! Best wishes and hopefully see you soon!
|24 Jan 2004||Joe Lee||I am Chinese!!! I don't know english very well. I am also a Chinese who is depressed, psychotic, narcissistic, or schizophrenic. (sometimes all of the above combined!) I been seeking ways to cure myself without any success.
I saw a psychiatric doctor before, we talked and talked. She told me I am screwed up in the head at first! Then she gave me an IQ test, to her suprise, I have an IQ of a genius. So now she thinks I am just trying to get a date with her, telling me when she will be off work.
I am crazy! I can't think straight!! People don't understand my mental condition, and think that I am just lazy. Don't know how to keep myself busy, how can i do that when I am taking it easy? My psychotic mind is anything but fuzzy!
But after all, it's not like I have to work in order to survive. My life is not too bad till now, probably smooth sailing all the way until I die of a natural cause... DAMN! that's when it hit me, I am a human being! Why can't I be a tree or a rock or a sea turtle? Facing self limitations is the catalyst of my depression, and the reaction goes far beyond depression.
Yesterday I bought some tuna and cod liver. Tuna for my cat and cod liver for myself. As I dined with my cat, I realized that the cat was depressed too. We just stared at each other without talking. Then the cat gave me a determined suicidal look and meowed. So I mixed some sleeping pills, my anti-depressants, two hits of LSD, quarter of marijuana, half bottle of asprin, vitamins, laundry detergent, toilet cleaning products... anything in powder form chopped up together with tuna and cod liver deep fried in fish oil. She ate slowly and walked out the door with a satisfied meow. I plugged my ears not to her painful cries for help, for freedom, for a quick end.
I am very sad and depressed today because that damn cat ate all my pot and dope... and she is still alive. Apparently healthier than before. So the lesson for you kids today, "cats don't have nine lives, but they are sure pretty damn hard to kill"... plus I can't even do my laundry now.
... well kids... very important and implied lesson you should learn from my cat is "DONT DO DRUGS!" because you might becoming an immortal, thus making suicide even harder. So please don't kill yourself by taking drugs. Give them to me! I will suggest other painless ways of suicide for you in return. Free of charge of course, because I am Chinese.
|17 Jan 2004||billy the freak||so i'm sitting in the library making good use of the public internet system. i was thinking up a composition for the kit and fell face first into some writer's block, then it hit me, but it wasn't divine inspiration. it was the horrid odor of the fatso sitting at the terminal next to me. the words van halen stretched across his massive back. soda bottle glasses complemented his acne in a grotesque way. i can only describe him as ugly.
then a doctor comes in. i could tell he was a doctor because he was wearing green scrubs and a long white coat.
i don't remember exactly what he said but it was something like this: "i'm a big important doctor, i need to email my beautiful wife at our big mansion in the hills. i forgot my two thousand dollar laptop at my office. however i don't have a library card, i don't even belong to this library, i'm kinda pressed for time so..."
the librarian said. "sure go ahead i'll let you on even though i didn't let that man over there get on when he didn't have his card last week." i mean, basically thats what they said.
so the doctor comes over and dramatically moves the chair away from the terminal on the left side of me and starts to hop around while he fiddles with the computer.
how can i think with all these distractions? on my right i got stinky pete the whale who loves van halen. on my left i got dipshit the dancing doctor. then dipshit's phone rings not once, not twice, but three times. now everyone in the library is looking at him.
"i'll just take this to the lobby" he said in a voice like superman. thanks for saving us, and it's a hallway asshole. anyway, it was time to take a stand. i grabbed his keyboard and quickly typed www.womenwholovehorses.net bam!, and i hit search. about thirty seconds pass and a older librarian comes by. the look on her face was unforgetable when she saw long dong mr. ed banging barnyard betty.
"who was on this computer?" she asked me as she made the the filthy porn disappear.
"it was that doctor out there in the lobby." i answered with the widest grin.
"you mean out there in the hallway?"
"yeah, the hallway."
"thank you young man."
i gave her a nod as she hurried past me torwards the hallway. now the look on the doctor's face was priceless when the old woman told him they didn't appreciate filth here and and that he would have to leave. one down. now it was time for tubby. but then i saw he was on a website i fancy and figured i would let him enjoy it. but i had to tape about six of them pine tree air fresheners to his fat ass back. everything was fine and i began to write...
|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....
|15 Jan 2004||billy the freak||elaine,
can't stop. are you addicted. claim you only dabble in it. well, jump in head first. it feels good. that's why i do it. lucy is still here. a matter of fact i think lucy is still posting, only as someone else. kill the old to make room for the new i always say. maybe lucy was tired of being lucy. maybe she wanted to change her style and felt she couldn't do it with the name lucy cortina, beautiful big breasted lucy cortina. i guess i can say i miss her too. even though we didn't start on the best of terms. well it is a new year and it is time for new things. i am still a slave to my my job. i'm still drinking and doing drugs. i still have sex with many different women. however, i have decided to grow a beard.
your friend billy
|11 Jan 2004||Elaine|| I don't want to kill myself, not really, No. Sometimes all i really need are a few sleeping pills - i can sleep my life away until better times come, because they always do, i Know. And it's days like These that i remember Lucy Cortina and how she made us all laugh and how she helped cry away my tears.
I've been here years and am breaking a precedent - Listening is always so much pleasanter than partaking so I've never before posted. I guess tha'ts how i live my life and I've got now to assume that that's my problem and why days like these bring me down in ways like this.
Billy, i'm glad youre still around some, with Lucy's sudden departure i begin to feel like the rest of the world has moved on past this phase and I'm still stuck here in my sick desperation. I wonder, does she still check in on us?
Life, friends, family, school, strangers opress and judge all the time... this is my haven. Do you realise, my darling Mouchette, the importance of what you have created? I think you say it best yourself in an old post about our dear Lucy...
And as long as Lucy Cortina writes her daily story, I shall want to live one more day to know what she will write next.
... I think this marks the end of my stay on Mouchette.org. Seeing my own words tarnish the thoughts of others is more than I can take. Maybe this is all i need to move on. I am forever raptured, ruptured.
|03 Jan 2004||Felicia the Great||Back From The Holidays
Hello Mouchette!!! Happy New Year!!!
To the rest of the folks still in hibernation, sleep away the cold months cuz February 2, will be here before you know it.
I'm surprized at the long posts written by budding writer's with wonderful amounts of talent. I was just looking in the bookstore one night sauntering through the Writer's 2004 booklet for publishing and inspired to write a long novel, later preparing it for mid-summer. I also encourage the other writer's to do the same. Use that talent to generate many returns--for heaven's sake--get paid for it!
Wish me luck folks and forgive my belly aching about the loud music. I know that it was not posted up for a good reason for fear of complaining critics. Since bomb mail has been an all time epidemic, I will spare my anger and put it forth to something more constuctive like bathing in a tub full of jello pudding while giving Rush Limbaugh an erection.
|31 Dec 2003||Chris||Resolution! Even the word I don't like. It sounds like revolution, which sneaks away with a measly ssss, like a traitorous lago and you a corrupted Othello once again. And, of course it's the opposite of revolution- it won't change anything. Sure, it'll make you feel like the hero of your own story, but isn't that a bit of a sad desire to start with?
Attach the word to New Year's, of course, and you've got a recipe for true cretinism. Is there still anyone over the age of 13 who makes New Year's resolutions? If I've learned anything from my years on this planet, it is that uttering the words "I'm never going to (insert vice here) again" make you look as real as Westlife lyrics. Yes, you will, and yes, despite all the resolutions I made not to lie, I still conceal my weight under clothes which make me look thinner. Resolutions of new years past will come back to haunt you, making you defeat all the more poignant, bringing the inevitable if unexpected discovery that self improvement is not so straightforward after all.
Yet, it is still hard not to get the resolution urge on New Year's Eve. There's that sense of renewal, of rebirth, and the guilty awareness that you ate your weight in chocolate during the holidays. Sure, last year's resolutions were already on the carpet with the last few tinsel and mince pie crumbs by the fifth of January, but hey, this year's going to be different, right? Right?
Not really. New Year Resolutions are the lion's share of this season's cheatings, as fad as the taped tinny carols echoing down the streets or the animosity and well wishes wrapped around every present that you got. Was any month ever so stuffed with the desire to change oneself, make oneself better in the Bridget-Jones style calibration of the things we do wrong, or too much or too little, on a daily basis? We're depressed, drowning in our own affluence and clawing about for an answer, an option on reinvention. Yet, we inevitably fail, year after year.
The proof of your annual failure is that after all these new years and thousands of resolutions, you're still some Lawrence of suburbia, living on the edge, smoking too much, reminding yourself that you are not a 6 year old any more and resolving to be grown-up. Despite your resolution to read more, you still watch crap TV with a soundtrack which seems as though it has been compiled by a drunken punter from a bar jukebox in the dirtiest bar on the darkest street. You still run hot baths, and while the bubbles burst, consider sensible eating options like not biting your nails and unconvincing yourself that a burger a day keeps the doctor away. As regards the gym, the membership card makes for a great beer coaster. After all, you are all for inner beauty, and a slick of lippy, a bit of eyeliner and a top-up deodorant are enough to face the brave new world.
At least, until the end of the year, when resolutions and their failings come full circle, reminding us that the compiling of New Year Resolutions is an essentially pointless exercise. Those of us who do make resolutions certainly do so in the full knowledge that we are unlikely to realise them, and will ultimately end up afflicted by a sense of guilt, by an increased awareness of our personal failings that we might have otherwise been spared. That in itself is an essential part of the whole resolution culture. So why do we persist?
Because we have been persisting for some 4,000 years since the custom was first introduced by the Babylonians, together with demon bowls and magic. The intention was to keep them humble and remind them to do things they might otherwise not. Apparently, the most common resolution doing the Babylonian rounds concerned the return of borrowed farm equipment to its rightful owners. This tradition was revived in Victorian times, albeit in different clothing. The Victorians took their rituals seriously, using them to ward off the burgeoning uncertainties of the fin de siecle years, nourish old roots and imply the presence of others that had never existed. The whole Christmas period, for instance was built up to help keep harsh modernity at bay, and each December 31 was seized on as an opportunity to reassure everyone that stability and cohesion came through ritual, and that, in spite of all the dark talk of decay and disintegration, there would still be growth and renewal in the new year.
Yet, at some point over the course of the past few years, the status of the New Year Resolution changed, and became an altogether darker affair. The resolution has evolved from a casual expression of our vague intention to do good by our neighbour's prototype plough, and become an open statement of our self-disgust, an affirmation of our continual pursuit to be anything better, anything but ourselves, the articulation of our personal dissatisfaction. Why can't we be less like us, and a little bit more like Kylie Minogue or Brad Pitt? Why can't we stop smoking and be thinner, fitter and kinder to animals? Why can't we plot against our individual failings and be better?
If you take such things seriously, the planning period of New Year's resolutions starts about now. For some, it might be a quick five-to-midnight mental scan, but I know others who spend hours designing the improved self, scheduled to arrive on new year's day. Chances are, even if you haven't acted out the New Year resolution mini ritual at some point over the last few days, you have been aware of the issue. Some small part of our psyche will have coughed politely, raised its finger and suggested that now might be a great time to curl up in a quiet corner with an appropriately pretty notebook, a fountain pen and a reverent air, and begin itemising the path to a better you. Or you simply think of every quality you don't like, draw up a wish list pf replacements, and at midnight the one would be exchanged for the other.
The list will include both physical and mental new ideas. Physically, we are hooked on the possibility that we could improve- be prettier, more groomed, more toned better dressed. Our economy depends upon it. Should we start believing that we can exist without a product that will combat the seven signs of ugliness, or a gym membership will rein in our flesh. All of this adds up to a general disenchantment that corresponds quite neatly with the annual resolve to do things better in 2004.
So while for most of the year, we think that a balanced diet consists of beer and hot dogs, slimming in the month of January becomes the world's favourite obsession. Maybe we should keep it so, since we have an obesity rate fit to make it to the Ritcher scale! For a few weeks, gyms are temporarily full of clients, horrified by what a post-festive step on the scales have revealed. For a few weeks, gyms are temporarily full of clients, fired by self improving zeal, sporting new trainers and learning the difference between a pec-deck and a bench-press.
It doesn't last. While for the first few weeks of January, the number of people who join gyms planning to do several times a week is high, the number still sticking with that months later is much lower, and many will have stopped going before January is over. As the initial enthusiasm and motivation disappear, people fall off the bench-press, stick to their beer and hot dogs diet, and let gyms grow fat on broken New Year's resolutions and promises and annual paid memberships.
So will drug companies who produce nicotine patches and gum. Each year, the production of these remedies doubles and so their marketing, since record number of smokers are always expected to try to kick the habit at the start of the new year. Everything starts the night before. You throw away everything to do with smoking- cigarettes, matches, ashtrays and the lot. Then before you go to bed, you run the cigarettes under the tap. Otherwise, you'll be delving in the bin, wiping baked beans off them in the morning. With a final flourish you start collecting all the money you would have saved in a jar thinking what a holiday you're going to buy. But like all resolutions it started with the bang of the ashtray on the floor and ended with a whimper of waking up groping for cigarettes near your bed and finding none. Then suddenly you see the light from heaven and you go out to buy cigarettes or at least you see the light of the open fridge!
Alas new year resolutions seldom make it past February! Why? Simply because most of us don't have a clue how to make a reasonable resolution, which is why most of us fail to keep the ones we make. So we either set up goals which are easy to keep such as sleeping as much as we can or breathing, or else stop making resolutions at all.
I just have decided that to give up smoking and getting up late in the mornings, or to clean my teeth with interdental brushes just wouldn't contribute to making the world a better place- so Fuck it! And anyway, I attribute most of my vices to the stress inflicted on me by others. I am their victim; and if they were to reform themselves, I would doubtless become a better person too.
Maybe we should make collective resolutions such as being more sophisticated as a country to celebrate diversity and start behaving like a tolerant country and relax. Together we should make an effort to be who we really are and not pretend to be others. Surely it makes more sense.
Yet maybe the only resolution we will keep in 2004 is to be good and dedicated bargain hunters and spend our leftover money in January, the month when many of us rush to the shops in search of that elusive must have item at a fraction of its usual price. We will crazily rummage the shelves, offering an arresting spectacle of consummerism at its nakedest while the bands play on. And again we will be a failed people, a failed nation and a failed, fucked up world!
But I live on (unfortunately) in hope. Happy New Year!
See ya all drunk, but again, Be ReaL!!!
|24 Dec 2003||Chris||I would say an optimist is one who walks down the street, finds no clothes to fit and flatter, and pronounces the death of fashion while asking that eternal question, "Does my mother look big in this?". Then the optimist will go for another lap around the shops and eventually finds something nice and very expensive. But what the fuck- everywhere Christmas lights are blazing and the message is 'Get spending now!'
A pessimist, on the other hand, will go round the same shops, sees no traffic in street wear, and decides that it is one's body that has gone out of fashion. Then one goes home and imagines life as it should be, not as it is, how fashion in this world is something of a juvenile pursuit but one day someone Promethean will do something about it.
I am of the latter party pooper species. So it comes as no surprise that I don't see Christmas as the most wonderful time of the year. Rather, it's the most anxious, the most desperate, the most self-punishing. Each December we struggle to achieve perfection- the presents must be just right, the turkey dinner must be wonderful and your party dresses or suits must be enough to make everyone wail and flutter with envy.
Inevitably, we fail on all counts, and these silent nights become a time for problems. You need to arrive somewhere fast but no one would give you a lift. The Christmas tree has started shedding the needles all over the carpet. The shops have just closed and you've realised that the shawl you've bought for your mum is exactly like the one you gave her last year. There are odd noises coming out of the oven and in the news, five carol singers whom you have just treated to a warm coco, have been rushed to hospital. Your angina is playing up, and heavy winds, rain and a migraine are expected in the next five minutes. Friends, who have been making merry in the various water holes across the country, just puked up over the yellow and gold scatter cushions and your cousin is coming to stay for three days and threatening to bring her kids along too, thank you very much. Then a policeman turns up to inform you that the neighbours have reported a mushroom cloud over your house. The oven. Happy Christmas? You blind or what?
And this is only the night before Christmas. After Christmas, it would be nice to go on holiday, from this laborous quest for perfection, it would be nice to have rest from all that unrewarding striving. But instead, we follow it up with New Year's Eve, perhaps the most anxious and unpleasant evening of most people's calendar.
Christmas is not perfect, yet we imagine it to be, simply because it is a ritual, to be followed to the letter, weighed down with the memory of perfect Christmases past that are totally figments of a whisky or sherry-drunk imagination. This is why it feels so disastrously wrong if it does not work out and why we long so much for it to be just right. And why year after year, we assume that everyone is having fun during their Christmas holidays. And if not, some charity will do the trick.
Well, not quite everyone is as lucky as the happy ones always getting drunk. Many people have to earn their living on a Christmas Day and New Year. TV people for instance. And if they are not actually on the premises they are at the mercy of a cell phone. And if they are not at the mercy of a cell phone, they are on the premises churning out old time favourites and Christmas shows spiced up with flamenco dancing and charity shows. While most terrestrial TV stations will operate with a relatively skeletal staff over the festive period, the idea that the world's viewing lies in the hands of the few and the somnolent couldn't be further from the truth. Take the newsrooms for instance- they will be staffed just in case Martians were to arrive while the rest of us are passed out in a fag of seasonal bonhomie.
Bus drivers work, save a couple of hours to enjoy a Christmas lunch which will probably start a couple of hours late and will only give them time to slurp down the lasagna or turkey with a litre of wine and tinsel. Hospitals are fully staffed- obviously someone has to be on duty in case Santa gets stuck up the chimney and breaks his leg. The wards will still hold their sick for the night. Security guards and policemen, soldiers and waiters, barmen and taxi drivers, all will be on duty on shifts in order that we can carry on with our celebrations.
Not everyone will be at home, reeking of figgy pudding and getting carried away with the sweet scent of mincemeat. And if you had assumed that everyone will be happy and huddled with the family at this time of year, then wake up and smell your grandpa's cheap vermouth. A lot of people will be unhappy this season, thanks to the massive build-up towards the festive season. December is supposed to be a time to enjoy oneself, but for those on their own or who can't afford it, celebrations will just make them feel left out, sad and angry. We know this, but think that some millions of pounds in charity will make the poor and the homeless joyous, and leave us to enjoy our Christmas and New Year with a calmed conscience.
Yet charity is not enough, in a world where we spend eleven months in charitable hibernation, then splash out and start giving charity like mad (in hope that by some chance we might get something back for it). And there are people who are beyond charity, and who do not need money to spend a happy Christmas. Divorced or seperated couples for instance, rostering the time each will spend with their children. The elderly, who have been abandoned by their family, fearing loneliness and insecurity and dreaming of Christmases past- What good will charity be for them? Not to mention prisoners. Will they and their family be enjoying themselves like the rest of us? Well, probably prison is the safest place to be during Christmas, but certainly not the most joyful. For children in hospitals, and those separated from their parents and friends and staying in orphanages, Christmas will be a difficult time as well. Not all children will be writing their Christmas wish list and running in circles round the Christmas tree making themselves ill. Some of them are ill aready lying in a hospital bed. And what about the suicidals, who no matter what day of the year it is they just feel more suicidal and see no bright hope for the future- rather a worse year than the one that is just going to end!
And after Christmas... there is another year. And while Christmas is supposed to be about birth, the New Year seems to promise a fresh start. What shall we do tomorrow? We can start again, if not from year zero, then at least a nice round number, 2004. We shall (or at least try to) erase our pasts, purge ourselves of recent excesses, cast off the shameful parts of ourselves and walk backlit by the rising sun, through the streets filled with the wreckage of the previous year- broken glass and red eyed party goers coming down from that 2003 high. We shall make resolutions to be better, thinner, learn German or something, stand up straight, stop smoking, make only perfect souffles and a never ending litany which we will not succeed in. We shall be reborn into our own lives. It will be a miracle! We shall be a better men and women and be more charitable kind. We shall wave the old year good riddance.
This is indeed a salutary tie of year but not because it gives pause to reorientate ourselves, and change our goals. Rather because it brings sharp relief into what happens during the rest of the year, in which prisoners, orphans, children in hospital and suicidals are not in the news. It is only during these times that these people are given the warm shoulder. So while you and your family all over the world are getting together and reminding yourselves of all the reasons why you're not together for the rest of the year, just think about the ones who have no choice. Remind yourself of those who really count their blessings and who don't want a present this Christmas but to be present and to be given a chance of a good life. Mouchie, you're the only one giving the warm shoulder to everybody all year round. Congratulations and Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to you and all you people reading this!
P.S. Leanne, I read your post, 'Leanne about Chris' many times and I still cannot fully grasp if I should take it positively, negatively or neutrally. Sometimes it sounds as if you're accusing me of being here but not there for you, sometimes it sounds as if you're loving but you don't want to. Yeah, I know that cold, numb or only angry can feel good but only to a certain point. One day you look at someone and you feel something strange. You put your hand on your chest and feel a rhythm and you realise that you still have a warm heart that still beats and loves and that it was only the people who you loved that left and not the love itself. It was just covered with this cold, hard layer that was peeled off when you saw that someone. As the song says 'love hurts' and one day your heart will be covered in that cold layer again. But you will keep hoping that some day you will find that someone who will be worth loving and hurting for and you won't mind the pain. Good luck to you for finding that someone and sorry if I hurt you in some way. The closest I can get is by e-mailing you but as you never asked I never did for fear of being a pest of myself and considered junk mail. Whatever you say and think, I will still love you and I think I can understand you and I wish you all the best for this festive season, beyond it and forever! (What I wrote today about sad Christmases wasn't to spoil the fun but to make you think about reality!)
See ya all having fun (if you can manage it) and getting drunk but Be ReaL!!!
|22 Dec 2003||Joe Lee||Hi, My name is Joe
Please excuse mine English, I am from China. As you know, China is not like what used to be. The ancient rules and western ideologies is quite different. Many youth develop mental illness trying to cope with this fast pace changing society. Depression is one of the major cause for suicide here.
Pressure from school mostly, because we have so many people. It's very tough to get into a good school. We are very poor compare to you. You are very rich most likely.
We are hard workers, it's our nature to serve others. Our economy is rising because of our hard works. We do every thing you desire cheap.
Our company offer many painless ways to end your life. With good doctors and medicine. Chinese believe in life after death, so we do everything properly, customer satisfaction guarantee.
You will not feel pain, you will not feel fear, you will laugh your way into the yellow river.
We have many settings. You can choose to end your life in any style painlessly. One of the famous way to go here is to die like the King in Bejing. You can even choose to get buried with your own personal servant. Life don't cost as mush here as in your country. As you know, we are very poor.
You can also choose to die in Tibetan style of sky burial. Where you will be fully drugged and comfortable. We also carry travel insurance for any accidents.
We will like to welcome you to come and take the last visit of our beautiful country. If you are under 10 years old and have siblings, we do two of you for the price of one. Please prepare at least $15,999 USD. We had calls from many angry parents, so better save the money your own. Cash only.
We have most every killing methods knowing to man prepared here with following examples:
Wide selection of animals:
Dungeons with Dragon,
Classical pissing on you in the hole,
Emperor's last meal, (Cost vary depend on the dish)
Goku's Torment, (the historical story of the monky king)
Jeffery Dun Sin,
We can even make your death a natural cause:
Heart attack (So real, you won't believe you are only 13)
Real lighting strike,
*Suprise me* (customer's favored choice)
I can't list them all,
Contact me by email, phones and fax leaves too much evidence.
Our New Year Special for group of eight is 200,000 USD. Where two lucky winner will be publicly excuted in TanAnMan square Bejing with official documents for espionage. You will be the youngest foreign spy on the news all over the world! This offer ends 2003!!
|22 Dec 2003||J Bush||I can't believe I found this disturbing web site. This shows me how messed up teenagers are now days. I will start a special suicide help center in Washington to help young Americans. No foreigners please, we have enough problem in our country right now. Contact by email with your phone and address, we should pick you up shortly.|
|21 Dec 2003||LeanneaboutChris||I'm back but not better. I've been busy thinking about trying not to think. Feeling too much or too little, I'd rather feel nothing. I used to feel numb, nothing, frozen and blank. Now, I'd actually like that back... too much emotion is a poison. I've gained bad times, and lost the good&distant ones. I have been longing and yearning for something, someone. A figment of my imagination perhaps? Somebody who can see the 'me' inside, who I wish was here but can't be. I lost touch, but keeping in touch just isn't enough.
I didn't forget about the one that mattered, and still does matter, just tried to erase him from my mind. Out of sight, out of mind? Been there, done that... doesn't work.
Festive season is amongst us yet again... don't be a stranger. Keep loving and most importantly keep living.
|20 Dec 2003||billy the freak||wow, i am very impressed with all of you, your writing of course. i finally got time to read some of the posts. mouchette, you're looking beautiful as always. chris, you are absolutely right. this is a safe place where you can express yourself, in many ways. some people come in here and just babble about nothing but they feel better when they're done, some people come in here and scream about how they want to hang their neck up and never come back. makes wonder if they might be hanging from a ceiling beam somewhere. you got people who want to give their best advice and hope they can save a life. then you got the ones who want to use it as a creative outlet like myself. i personally feel that's what makes this interesting. i was here from the beginning and right now this piece of art is taking a wonderful shape. be safe and have a happy holiday season.
lucy, have a wonderful christmas darling!!!
|20 Dec 2003||Chris||I know you've been waiting for a continuation of 9th December's post. So here it comes...
Anyway, the potatoes (yeah, you remember I was boiling potatoes) were done. I got off bed which juttted out of a double-doored closet and went into the coffin-sized kitchen, 'kitchenette' was the euphemism used on the For Rent sign. I grabbed the handle of the pan in a hot pad, held the lid loosely over the top and poured the hot water into the sink, devastating as I did a long column of ants marching over the porcelain on their way to the cupboard. Then I let the potatoes roll and bump out onto my plate, four dead boiled potatoes. I took them into the other room and sat down on the edge of the bed to eat.
There was one window in the room and the raspberry-coloured walls added to the gloom. As I put forkfuls of potato in my mouth and they formed a metallic-tasting mucilage, I told myself I had to learn to cook. I was a long way from the quite good food you eat in average restaurants, let alone the posh ones. Maybe I could check out a cookbook from the library. I had lots of time to learn to cook...
I began to have the idea I didn't know what I was. It seemed I had, once, but apparently I had thought I was what I was doing. That had been all right when I had been a boy who was always happy, a dreamer who dreamed about love and changing the world into a better place, a good boy who studied and worked hard at school, a boy who made people laugh with him instead of at him and a boy who had an enthusiasm for life in general, California style bon vivant. But to apply the same standard now to the 'all dreams shattered', loveless, non-enthusiastic approach, miserable creature lying on a bed at noon in a cheap room, lunching on boiled potatoes, that called for a conclusion about myself that I didn't want to make.
Trying to see myself from the point of view of other people didn't help. I barely know other people and they all seem stupidly the same. And still I couldn't feel the guilt of anything I've done in life and I still couldn't understand why people always laugh at me or say stupid things about me in hushed tones. None of the things I thought of helped. I could really only concentrate on what lay immediately before me, the problems of studying and eating. However memory helped by hurting. Memory brought pain which obscured necessity. Love hadn't left me, only the people I had loved had. So my friends and my imaginary girlfriend remained to dart into my thoughts when I was at my most unprotected, remained to confuse my focus on survival.
It worked the other way round too, the need of surviving distorted my love. As now, lying back on the bed with my hand over my eyes, disgusted, depressed, breathing only because I had no choice, my imagination gave me my imaginary girlfriend and then mocked what I had been given. With the image of this 'girlfriend' came the thought that I had ommitted a noise in my catalogue of sounds, the trickling toilet in the bathroom. And as if that wasn't enough it had to be degraded even more. A girlfriend, and longing for a girlfriend, and a popular tune, a trickling toilet, a tune twisted into a parody for self-humiliation, the connections rushed into my mind, I had to admit the thought belonged to me, 'a trickling toilet in the next apartment, those stumbling words...' couldn't be what my heart meant!
I fixed my eyes on the raspberry ceiling. It was too ugly a hue to create an atmosphere of sentimentality, and the light bulb with its flowered cloth skirt had its own dime-store harshness. With a kind of relief I managed to fasten my mind on these things. The blotchy paint, the forty-watt bulb, and the skirt, handmade with a dirty, rough touch to it. These things told me where I was, told me I was Chris in a cheap room with lots of shit to study and work at and no better idea of what to do than lie on my back on a metal bed and examine the ceiling. I reached for a newspaper lying nearby and stared to read an article before I realised I had made a decision to stop wasting my time and work. But what could I do? How could I catch up with the rest? How was I to be as good as, or even better than the rest of the people who have been working their nuts off all year round? But then I realised, it didn't really matter what it was, I just knew that I had to do something, to move on in life, so maybe one day I could earn some proper money, to prove myself that I could do that much (because even if painfully, school and work are the only things going for me in life, so if I even fail in that, I'm pretty fucked!) So from today, I swear I'm gonna do more than just stare around and waste my time!
See ya slavin' your nuts off!
|16 Dec 2003||billy the freak||:hey there looking at me, what it is you see. what is it about you that i adore? try to find some words i can use. don't got the courage to come up to you. my chances are looking a bit grey. i'm staring across the room. are you leaving soon? i just need a little time. oh no it happened again walked away with her boyfriend maybe we'll meet again someday... someday...
i found myself in a bar room with my best friend searching for something. cigarette smoke loomed in air and made everyone look fuzzy through its transparent wisps of death. the smell of alcohol was bitter, the taste was sweet. i found it.
she was dancing by the juke box. the light shining off her soft milky skin made her look heavenly... like some sort of fallen angel. i imagined two bloody stumps where her wing should have been and was insanely aroused. when i felt the twitch below my belt i decided to order another drink.
"bartender... a double of rum and a beer to chase them down." he assured me that he got my order by repeating it back to me using different words.
"a twin pirate boiler maker coming right up." i gave him a quick nod and pat my friend's shoulder to get his attention.
"hey, look over there by the juke box... my angel." he looked over by the juke box then back at me.
"she's alright... i guess." i was outraged by his response.
"she's alright... you guess." i mocked him in a unpleasent tone. "man, she looks like heather gram."
"yeah, a skinny heather gram" he said, matter of factly.
"dude, she's not skinny!" i snapped at him.
"you're right, she's not skinny." he said with with a smile. "she's anorexic."
"fuck you asshole, you don't know what your talking about. she is beautiful and i'm going to go talk to her" i said, just about spitting in his face.
"alright man, you know i was just goofing around". my buddy jay always has jokes, and he knows me better then anyone. that's why i love him. "if you're going to go over there, you need to calm down and think of something to say, or you're just going to choke up again."
he was absolutely right. what was i going to say? i have a bad problem with my words slipping out my mouth and falling to the floor. it is embarrassing when i got to pick them up. i shot down my rum and drank my beer, then it hit me. i will simply tell her she looks like heather gram.
i got up and took off in the direction of the juke box. my heart started thumping. i passed the pool tables. my head started spinning and instead of going straight i turned left and headed right into the bathroom into the stall onto my knees and puked. i insantly felt better and figured i would relieve my bladder while i was in there.
i walked over to the sink and looked in the mirror. i looked horrible. i washed my face and rinced out my mouth the best i could. i choked and this time i didn't even get to talk to her. i felt pathetic. i looked in the mirror one last time. i siked myself up the best i could, because i wasn't going down without a fight. i told myself... i told myself i could do this.
i came out the bathroom with my head high and my intentions set, but something was wrong. i couldn't find my angel. i walked over to the bar where my friend was.
"I saw your little detour there partner."he said with his glass held to his mouth.
"where did she go?" i asked him in a low embarassed tone.
"her old man came in and told her it was time to go. you wouldn't have got her anyway."
i sat down, ordered a drink and blew air from the deepest part of my lungs. when jay said. "let's get a burger."
"yeah" i said, "a hamburger sounds good right now."
|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...