|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?
|08 Jul 2003||Felicia had a breast implant done.||You know, I was always wondering about Lucy Cortina and Billy the Freak. I read all of Lucy's posts. Then I read Billy's. Yes, Madame Lucy, I am but nosey rather than big busted and I'm one of your greatest admirers who wished to have replicas of your wondrous casabas.
One night I was looking at the SPICE channel for a good hour. I analyzed it and realized that all these entertainers had breasts enlargements the size of cantaloupes with marshmallow-like qualities. Most of the girls were lesbians I suppose, so if I stared long enough, no doubt, I think I might be lesbian; However, I like men at the same time, especially the ones with effeminate qualities like Clay Aiken of American Idol. (Sorry Clay, you kind of stick out like Barry Manillow in the crowd. But I bought the front cover of you for the Rolling Stone. I still love you though.)
Well anyways, one day, I took a trip to a breast surgeon. Paperwork had to get filled out and I was wondering if I had insurance coverage for extensive cosmetic surgery. In the charts, I was advised if the surgeon can suck out the fat from my tummy and stick it in my chest or use that silicone stuff that Demi Moore and Carmen Elektra uses. I decided to go for the works. In a display case, I saw the silicone models and picked up each one to feel the texture. One felt cushy like a slipper sea urchin. It wiggled like jello and it slid out of my hand into the plastic case. The second one felt like a sandwich bag filled with silly putty. It just felt so artificial and pokey. The third one felt like a silk glove, so I chose that one. It balanced so perfectly in place. After my selection, the doctor got a marking pen and placed circles and lines all over my upper chest, and I was given chart diagrams for particular breast sizes. Staring in the mirror for a long amount of time, I looked like the directional chart for a football game strategy itinerary.
That final day came when the anesthesiologist put the triangular orifice over my teeny flat nose and mouth. Under my hospital gown, my boobs were covered. A breathing respirator was to my left, and a needle was placed in my right arm. The anesthesiologist directed me to count from 100 backwards. I did.
100...99...98....(my head started buzzing and everybody sounded like children on helium.)
(Then lights out.)
I slightly woke up again and felt my head circling from nausea. There was Lucy Cortina standing before me in doctor garb. OMIGAWD!!! She's a doctor. She took her doctor hat and facemask off and whispered in a sweet voice;
"Now Felicia. Abracadabra! You now have wondrous casabas!"
An hour later, I was then wheeled to the recovery room to have relief from the surgery. Three weeks later it was time to have the stitches removed. Bandages were still in place and lights all pointed to my chest. Dr. Cortina removed the bandages and removed the stitches, and later I stared into the mirror. My mouth flew open wide.
- to be continued till next week.
|07 Jul 2003||Felicia, your daily advisor.||One night, my heart was pattering so fast because I thought of this one guy, who I thought, digged me. Then I kept rewinded the thought in my head, the bittersweet words he spoke: " I was just using you for sex." Now just thinking about this would make anyone feel like ending it all. In short, some of you would say, "That's really fucked up! Chuck the bastard!!"
You know that thought...
It's like having a water hose stuck in your left nostril with water pressure on full power. Of course, literally, it would help you wash those awful thoughts away, and actually you would end your life by drowning, which I don't recommend.
Rejection is a daily cycle of life in which we all have to accept. We cannot force anybody to love us any more or any less. If things always happened our way, we would disturb the "natural order" as quoted by our dear old friend, Shakespeare. The world would be utter chaos if things always happened our way. If we tried killing ourselves, we would take life into our own hands, and cause a disturbance in this world.
If you tell yourself that you don't matter, it would be the same as telling me that I don't matter. We have a purpose to this society whether it would be negative or positive.
Don't contemplate that portal to self destruction. Why? Because down the road there may be something in store for you that you will really miss.
...And that would be finding YOU.
|03 Jul 2003||Lucy Cortina||For some reason there are a lot of wobblers in the town where I go to college.. I think it must be a special fat town, like when they have special beaches for people who like to go nude etc.
Not that I'm complaining.. life could be worse.
|27 Jun 2003||Lucy Cortina||Just agirl and co, life IS what you make it. If you think it's shit and you're a freak, hell, you will be. Ignorance is bliss, and what you think becomes true.
Like me, I kept on using daily affirmations and saying to myself "these former boobies WILL grow back to their former glorious selves". And surprise surprise, they are back! Ok, so maybe a surgeons knife gave them some assistance, but that's life innit!
My life is full of madness all the time. I used to donate sexy pics of my boobs to porn sites. I pressed my hefty weighty breasts onto the scanner, and they came out as big as Pamela's. And that wonderful thing my nipples do when I press them against a cold window! It's so glorious! I was reduced to this just so I could afford some NEW boobies.
But I take it all in my stride. Boobies, bras, my sister, poop in my bed, it all happens, and I get suicidal.
Why else am I on this website.
|21 Jun 2003||Lucy Cortina||People may be wondering if I finally did the decent 'thang' and killed myself. Sadly, you won't find me hanging from the shower curtains of President Bush's en-suite.
No, I'm still here. In a library. Looking at a suicide website. Librarians walk past me in disgust. They have nothing better to do than pass judgement. Their lives are filled with powdering their delicate noses, walking around in slippers, and engaging in lesbian acts in the resource room.
But me, I'm here having just been on a trip to the Bronte museum. How.. er... exciting it was. The debate of the century was... whether or not Mr Bronte was, ahem, 'gay'.
Yup, Lucy's still here.
|21 Jun 2003||will||hi everyone. at the moment im trying to be positive. i have thought of so many ways to end my life. ie exhaust fumes, tablets etc. but then, if i end it others win. why let them win? particularly my dad, who's been dead since 1987, but he still screws me up sometimes, the old paedo! i read some of your troubles, and it reduces me to tears. there is so much hurt in the world, and i do wonder what's the point! ummm, i'm not making much sense, back up the loft.......|
|16 Jun 2003||just a girl||i hope life isn't one big joke...
because i don't get it...
|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.|
|10 Jun 2003||Brendickle||the answer is simple, come pay me a visit. I won't get violent, I will just subject you to my poetry. I am not as good as Mouchette, but it still might do the job of killing thee. here is a sample:
the sweaty cheese man
came down from the loft
to purchase a roll of floss
much to his chagrin
the shop wouldn't tell him the aisle, much less they wouldn't tell him the cost!
the loft dweller offered
to give over his life, or anything the cashier wanted.
your spikes your spikes
spike me with your spikes!
but the cheese boy looked away and was daunted
all i want is to floss my teeth! they are made of cheese and they're sweaty!! all you girls and your punk rock fetish, why are you all so petty?!
|05 Jun 2003||Lucy Cortina||Too true Felicia. Every day is your birthday, and everyday is a day for boobies.
Weekend is for cocks.
|04 Jun 2003||will||well, i came down from the candy flossed loft (try saying that after a few). And i ventured to town, only to be manhandled (or is that womanhandled) by three teenage girls. Trouble is, i'm gay. They were interested in only one thing, yes my spikes. ie my spikey hair! I now get called spike around town..... ummm, talking of boobies, i had a nice pair when i was fat. But they have dissappeared since i became skinny. My strict diet of candy floss. Oh well, back up to the loft for another munch....|
|03 Jun 2003||Lucy Cortina||Just a girl, thankyou. Thinking of my boobies up there, wearing silken flowing bras and dancing in a ring with other well-known boobies (like Lolo Ferraris), it brings me such joy. I only hope they are permitted by the Head Boobie to join in fun and games with the Dicks (a la the 'boys'). Yes, 'tis a nice thought.
It proves that the bond between woman and bosom can never be broken.
|03 Jun 2003||just a girl||"my shoes"
Lucy baby I am still here... do not be troubled... do not worry... oh no... do not be overly concerned :)
I know how much you must miss your dearest friends, who yes, selfishly left your side... (or front rather) to go to another place... which was probably a better place than this earth... (boobie-heaven perhaps).. but I do wonder.. what do they do up there everyday? I can just image them as happy 'new-comers' who join in and frolic in the wilderness with all the other greatly missed boobies.. most likely having the time of their 'lives' (death's rather).. and I know u must be thinking.. "how could they do this to me!".. but remember.. we must be happy (and remember u got me!).. for they truly have 'gone to a better place'.. or so we hope (but then again.. what could be worse than this reality we live in?)
This morning as I got out of bed.. my head span a little (as it usually does).. when I noticed I too was missing a few of my friends.. my precious spirits were all gone.. all drained.. all left transparent.. all left vulnerable.. and empty.. (why is it everything I touch mimics myself.. and eventually turns to shit? I dont know..).. anyway after this dreadful incident I somehow managed to drag my pathetic sorry ass into my shower (with the kick! of a vodka shot).. after removing my innocent pjs, I realised my intoxicating friends were not the only ones I was missing.. I have no boobies?
I guess because this fiasco has been going on so long and has literally taken the life out of me, I failed to notice that the price to pay for being oh-so beautifully thin was indeed my own warm friends.. (try not to cry for me luce).. I mean, of course they were still 'there' (for I hadnt had surgery overnight.. I think?) but they were dead.. and lifeless.. not their 'usual-selves'.. they kinda reminded me of an old pair of shoes I used to wear.. at first I loved them.. hell everyone did!.. and they were taken care of.. and used ;).. they were the centre of attention and had everything in the world and everything to live for.. but after a while.. they just got old.. and stretched.. became dirty and lost their innocence.. and no longer were they full of feet (or love).. and they just became empty.. (I told u everything I touch turns to shit!).. well its like that with my boobies too! they are still there.. but they feel like potato chip bags.. you know the individual bags you get in like a pack of 12? Well its like the bags are still there.. but the chips have been demolished.. and sadly destroyed..
Who is to blame for this I hear you ask? probably myself.. but they were first neglected by another.. who gave up on me.. and in turn.. my boobies.. oh how they used to love all the attention and wonderful compliments.. I guess after 'he' left.. so did my boobies.. they gave up.. realised there was no hope.. no reason.. and no point in this demeaning life..
they decided they didnt want to live anymore........
I told you everything I touch mimics me...
So lucy.. in conclusion to another pointless story of mine.. u can now see how I feel your pain.. and I know what youre going through.. for everything in its own time and place, will eventually end up like my shoes.. unloved.. uncared for.. and inevitably wanting to die..
But hell maybe my boobies are up there with yours.. frolicking in the wilderness together! :)
|02 Jun 2003||Felicia was rescued by Lucy||It has been exposed. The #1 killer of the brain is excessive television with numerous amounts of reality shows involving "contests with boobies", The subliminal messages in those shows during commercial breaks are quite harmful. You see skinny attractive youths on cell phones, bandashering their silicone filled boom booms and bare midrift tubbies. Some of the teenage girls say, "Look at me! Look at me! I can flash my cute pertly titties! ( I see Lucy doing the same on the sidelines here.)" Of course the little boys get horny, and here I am feeling, very, very, "without". It so bothersome sometimes as I turn off the set and head of to the market to purchase a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream after a brief commercial. On the way home, I pull out a drawer, peel the ice cream lid and start scooping. Then I start crying.... and then I start scooping, because my boobs aren't big enough. I head up the stairs and look in my drawer of "not nots" and "what nots" then all of a sudden, out of the drawer appeared a set of water boobies that Lucy Cortina bought for me last Christmas. I sniffed it slowly since it still had the scent of plastic, placed it beneath my bra, pushed up my boom booms and shook again to the rap song of "Baby Got Rack!"
As daring as I was, I drove to the record store wearing a tight top and curvy belly midrift pants. The guys did stop and stare... Yes... I saw a set of long, longs, across the way. The cashier at the front of the store rung up my cd and all he stared at was my breasts. I then looked up and found he was handsome and hand a long, long.
It was then that he asked me out for coffee.
Thanks, Lucy Cortina, SS Double Agent 00,
I love you!!!! Thanks for saving my life...
By the way, what's up with Billy the Freak?
|02 Jun 2003||Lucy Cortina||Just a girl, don't do this to me. You know full well that my dearest passed away more than a week ago. They were my only weapons.
When I was sent to my psychiatric unit, they searched me before I went in. They even removed my bra (big mistake!), so as I couldn't hang myself with it. As soon as they had lifted this dam, my oceana of breast-flesh was released. They seemed unbothered and just carried on with their search.
"What, no weapons of mass destruction?" I said, even though my weapons were clearly in front of me. It's not as if I could use my breasts to slash my arms or anything, though.
"We have to check everyone", said the nurse.
"Well you should check my home then. My sister shits on my bed, my dog eats my bras, my dad is a tranny and got mum pregnant by getting mum to sit on his dick and do the work herself, and my uncle is from a pre-Beatles era. Go on, go on then, check me you bastards!"
I was discharged within the hour.
|01 Jun 2003||just a girl||omg! do you know what our shitty governement has gone and done now? i mean its bad enough our governor general (or previous governor general should i say?).. was a child sex abuser.. but this.. this is just NOT COOL!
they have gone and taken all the pro-ana sites off the net! yes thats right! for some reason they think they have the 'right' to take away what is rightfully ours.. you cant just go taking these things away from people when u feel like it!!! what the hell is wrong with these people!!! (its like taking away our air we need to breathe!) what ever happened to being a damn democracy and freedom of speech (or type).. and individual rights!!! and.. and.. what ever the hell else we are!!! oh dear!!! mouchie!!! what if 'they' soon think they can take away your site too? o dear! o dear! what if 'they' think this site is bad too and remove it? o dear! o dear! what on earth would we all do?? (die maybe?) i dunno about you guys.. but this site is beginning to be the only thing i got left!!! so ill be damned if i let 'them' take it away from me!!! grrrrrrrr 'they' will not get away with this so easily... oh no... something must be done.. someone must do something... and that someone is me!!!
'tick' (and a lightbulb switches on in my head) yesssssss that someone is me!!! i will stop them... that government will never know what hit them... muhahahhaha...
ps... lucy i think i need your SSSS intelligence here!!! care to join me in a kill-your-governement-the-fucking-bastards-massacre? this could be a tricky mission... not one for the faint hearted....... :)
|30 May 2003||just a girl||superman
my dearest lucy do not fear.. i am still here.. (unfortunately).. i have not yet deserted you like your once warm beloved boobies have.. and my boobies have yet to enter that 'great boobie-home in the sky' (as i so vividly remembering you saying once)
and to my dear naomi I am so sorry I cannot be your master just yet.. for the jump was postponed.. and I am also sorry for my go at you.. that was just a girl in pms.. intoxicated (with shit life) mood.
but no i am here.. it appears my up-chuck reflexes have yet again prevented me from doing the inevitable and taking the plunge (i must be superman).. instead my head took the plunge.. (into my toilet that is).. as i spent yesterday as one with my insides, yet again.. watching the nothingness disgorge from my empty stomach.. mainly consisting of my stomach lining and anything else left..
due to this i was unable to get my train.. to my 'final destination'.. and was stuck here once again.. with my beautiful friend.. my tv.. and my life flashing before me in the form of a 'the bold and the oh-so beautiful' episode..
this morning when i woke up however, feeling so faint and weak from the previous days upchucking performance.. i asked myself, "how long is this going to go on for?".. and i couldnt answer.. and it made me so sad.. that i now have no control over myself any more.. i have no control over anything that happens, and every time something does.. it feels like someone is stabbing me in the gut with an extremely large knife.. but this time it doesnt feel good.. because im not the one doing it..
and the most awful thing happens today.. I got used to it.
I got used to being like this.. it almost seems normal.. all my obsessive behaviour has become normal and I cant snap out of it.. since when did I check how much I weigh everyday? Since when was losing 1kg everyday not enough? Since when did I think I was too fat? But I am too fat.. since when do I write into this suicide website? Since when do I spend my lunchtimes and weekends alone? Cutting myself.. since when do I not speak to the people who mean the world to me everyday? Since when do I break their hearts? Since when did I hate myself so much that it has come to this.. and when I think about it.. i've always been like this.. what can u do when u realise its not the people around you that mess you up.. but yourself? How can u get away from your own mind? Oh god.. when is this ever going to stop.. sometimes I wish there was a god so I could ask that question.. but there isnt.. and there is no hope
And as i sat in a psychology lecture today i listened so intently to the man at the front of the room (despite my need for hell's cocktail & my friendly friend.. prozac), dressed ever-so neatly speaking the best he could.. about hypnosis, psychosis, schizophrenics, depression, anxiety problems and just about anything else that covered myself and could fall under my name.. and he said something that kinda struck me.. (like a lightening bolt from above).. and it was that our subconscious mind already knows the moment we are born, who we are, what is in stall for us, and what we are to become.. now from as far back as I can remember, the topic-at-hand here has always been in my mind.. even during the most of happiest times in my life it was still there.. lingering in the back of my mind like a scratch that never got itched.. i even remember back to my days in year seven.. when I would play chicken with the ongoing cars that passed me by.. or stand with my arms out preparing to jump from the top of my roof.. however.. with this theory in place.. I thought.. shouldnt I already be dead by now? For my subconscious and conscious has not only thought of suicide, but.. considered.. contemplated.. dreamt of and even, attempted.. so I dont understand.. shouldnt I be dead by now? If that is what my subconscious mind is always thinking about, doesnt that mean that it is what should happen?
And I came to the conclusion..
I must be some kind of superman
|29 May 2003||Lucy Cortina||It disgusts me how pornographic radio advertising has become these days.
I just heard an ad on my radio that read: "It is I, Big John from Corellia Cars. Our prices are oh oh OH so low, and all the cars have long warranties..." then a woman replied:
"Really Big John, is that all u can think about? Nice cars with 'long warranties'?"
It's a disgrace. My sister listens to the radio cos she likes all the dancey and catchy songs. Then Christina Aguilera is on singing about how she likes getting "dirrty".
Well, my sister is dirty enough thank you very much!!! That fucken bitch Christina is brainwashing her.
Do you people now understand why a girl like me is on a website like this?
Just a girl, do not desert me like my selfish boobies did. There will be one less pair of boobs in this world if you do what u plan, and there are never enough boobies, just like there's not enough blood.
In fact they should put out adds asking for boobie donations along with blood donations.
|27 May 2003||Lucy Cortina||Schlib - this website IS therapy. Reading through this website will teach you more than any jumped up psycho-ologist will tell you.
Therapists do not offer a warm bosom for you to cry upon, whereas I do, or at least I used to. Sadly I will soon have to offer a fake bosom to cry on.
|26 May 2003||will||Ummm, today i thought of a way to escape from my miserable life. I thought perhaps i should move, move up into the loft. But, i would have to be very quiet. And what do i do for food? Well i could eat the glass fibre insulation. A kind of tasteless candy floss, or if you're from Australia it's fairy floss. I would have water from the cold water tank. But what about a toilet, i hear someone say? Umm, i haven't thought about that one........|