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.

Date Name/email

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?
25 May 2009 Enzyme Hello my velveteen death-rabbits, a thousand evil butterfly-kisses upon your tortured brows! Mouchette! I brought this still beating mailman heart for you! Wrapped in candy-corns, jaguar eyes and silt! See how it glistens in the wide, rich light of dawn? That’s real cosmic loneliness I garnished it with. Just for you my darling ruffian. How delightful your shimmering canines are! May I offer my forearm up for you to affectionately tear the flesh off my bones? I adore you so my little persimmon…

Let me tell you all about a vacancy. Take the late-late gilded one stop train deep into the aorta of my homeland. Waiting to carry your bags is a positively charming World War I flying ace with empty holes instead of eyes. He grins with a wide copper smile and steps forward to kiss your hand. “You poor, poor thing. Right this way.” And into the asphyxiated night he leads you through cobble-stoned paths and pale fire to the All You Can Rest Stop. Everyone there is drowsy and adorable, intoxicated with warm lamplight. Dryads, Demons, tall thin train conductors with artificial internal organs they keep wrapped in wax paper on their laps. Here you’ll be safe my sweet Mouchettelings. Come here anytime and cuddle with the malnourished scarecrows, belligerent angels, and pouting zombie children. Sway to The Ink Spots and dip long needles into the living meat pastries. Here’s a buy-one-get-one-free ticket. Keep this place deep in your heart. And instead of slashing your lovely wrists go here in your volcanic mind. Visit it whenever you like. I’ll be in the back near the jukebox that runs on human blood, giving away free benedictions and nuzzles.

The point being, I want you all to flee whole-heartedly from reality. Just pack your bags and get the hell out of dodge. The world of the everyday is laced with cyanide and sobbing railroad apartments. The agony of tying one’s shoelaces. The magnetic yearning with all your exploding blood vessels for something you can’t fully articulate. Happiness doesn’t seem to be woven into the fabric of the day to day. That’s why the trembling furnace in our dawn-soul’s imagination exists. Let go of all your mundane, earthly needs. Acceptance, wealth, marriage, fame, sex, beauty, everlasting joy. The pursuit of happiness will yield more misery than anything else. Yessssss… Good. Now feel the suppurating beetle of guilt and shame withdraw its revolting proboscis from your swollen neck. Remember, you’re still alive. Feel that expanding cataclysmic sunrise in your ribcage? That’s the miracle of your demonic life force shuddering and expanding. How rare. How extraordinary that you are. Stuffed with emeralds and goblin tyrants. No, you are not incomplete, but whole and burgeoning. Everything you need is in your heart and skull. This is not a competition, not a race for happiness, freedom or achievement, not a transition, not a buffet. You are already the goal, to exist as the lovely and hideous creature that you are. The specimen drifting peacefully in formaldehyde on the shelf. You are a self-perpetuating motion machine. A short-wave radio. Meant simply to be sensitive enough to emote. By existing you have already fulfilled your destiny. There will never be another exactly like you in the history of the dark, expanding cosmos. Enjoy it.

And go watch: “Let The Right One In” by Tomas Alfredson. Swedish vampire films always cheer me up.

Love Enzyme.

P.S. Hello Billy the Freak, I bow low to you my liege, my scalp scraping the hard wood floors. I am indeed a deity. The god and goddess of shy nooks and awkward corners.
24 May 2009 M.M. a.k.a. billy the freak (Rape, Murder and Suicide Are Easier When You Use a Keyboard Shortcut: Mouchette, an On-Line Virtual Character
Leonardo - Volume 38, Number 3, June 2005, pp. 202-206)

this quoted from web site project muse in brief review of mouchette

i noticed i spelled your name wrong on my last post. i was key stroke off. please do not take offense.
some years ago mouchette asked me to stop making spelling errors, because she didn't have time to correct them. mouchette has given few a interviews over the years and in one of her early interviews she was asked how much time she spends at her computer. she did not want to answer for it was so much. i was not upset, in fact i was happy she took the time to correct my post long as she did. she wanted my words to be right and further more she challenged me to do this myself in a sense make my own work better. with that she helped me design the way my post are styled. i do this by copy and paste from my yahoo mail account. that way i can see it spread out and i use spell check. pretty smart, huh. then finally she asks me how i started spelling so good. i told her i used spell check.

the bangles manic monday plays in the background.

now, i don't really know if my post have gotten better, but i do feel as if they have matured, however they still give the opposite vibe. hey, i'm a freak.
you said you had a screenplay.
i fancy myself a writer as well. mouchette says: to become an artist you simply make something and call it art. i guess you can do that with writing as well. i make a few post in the kit and now... i'm a writer.
in an interview with peter luining mouchette says: (I am the kind of person who thinks that art is never where you expect it, and that art is only in the eye of the beholder: a true descendant of Marcel Duchamp.)
i agree with this one hundred percent and i consider what i'm doing right now art. a revolutionary type of art where you are allowed to contribute even if you are tricked in to doing so.
after the first time you then pick your level of involvement. i bet there are souls who have been visiting for years and never once posted and of course i only speak of the kit. there is so much more. she has so much allure.
in the reviews of mouchette they try break it down with psychology, and i can tell from your post you know a little something about that. in the interviews it seems to me the person answering the questions instead of answering the questions as if they were mouchette they speak of mouchette like it is piece of art that is influenced b the hands of many and left to interpretation. please don't get me wrong mouchette does provoke you on a psychological level and does a good job of steering your thoughts in a certain direction, but what two psyches are the same. so i feel it is definitely up to your interpretation. they say mouchette allows you to flirt with the thought of death, maybe... it also allows you to flirt with the thought of life.
with all the searching i have done and personal interaction i have had with mouchette i am no closer to knowing what she is then when i first began, but i do know how she makes me feel. if mouchette was music i would download her onto my i pod. if mouchette was an herb i would smoke her. you know what? i am getting way off track. enzyme, i'm sorry i spelled your name wrong. i noticed you didn't have any typos in your post. perfect. god. are you god? well if you are. i'm sure you know what you are getting into and can handle it. don't let us down.

your friend,
billy the freak

p.s. we all know mouchette is on the cutting edge of pop culture but has anyone noticed how wattle chick sounds and reads like lewis carroll's jabberwockey? curiouser and curiouser. billy wins the award for most mentions of mouchette in one post, he chortles in his joy. mouchette i love you.
23 May 2009 M.M. a.k.a.billy the freak the city heaves like the breath in her lungs. people bustle through the streets as the blood surges through her veins. i can feel this all around me... however, i sit alone in her bar. I want to be alone, only me and the bartender.
{hey, did you know i have the power to be anybody? i can go anywhere. yep. i can do anything, any-fucking-way i want to do it. however, tonight I sit alone. i sit in a basement level dive too dark to see the clock on the wall, yet bright enough to see the bar in front of me like a high definition painting in a cheap plastic frame. the pink neon light in the window screamed in its best cursive 'MOUCHETTE' a warm and ambient glow enveloping you like a womb welcoming all to her embrace. however, tonight i sit alone.
the bartender is mouchette and i am only a guest in her place. like me she has the power to be anything, but only in the minds of other people. if you were to ask her who she was, she would say she killed herself at the brink of thirteen and in death had second thoughts. not that she didn't want to kill herself, but wanted to know the best way to do it. now she plays a game and through this game she lives on.
tonight mouchette is a thirty something woman with the type of beauty that says you would like to love her, but wouldn't really be at your best only because you are intimidated by her razor sharp wit and her worldly charm... she has so many friends and you never feel good enough in her company. the intimate encounters are few and far between and you both want more. when you are away she is always in the back of your mind. i know all this and tonight she is only the bartender, why she is in this spittoon of a saloon could only be guessed, but i do know she is here... always here for me.
"mouchette! baby doll, please pour me another" i belted.
"billy, darling, no need to shout; i am right here and there is no one else in the bar" she said in a reprimanding tone", " another vodka and tonic i would bet?"
"right you are. you know me well "i said.
"i know you because you know you, you know me and right now... this is all we know" she replied.
"positively insightful mouchette, I say you inspire me. you are my muse." this i announced with a certain amount of glee, but not really understanding what she said. it sounded good enough.
"billy" she said while fixing my drink. "I am afraid the booze is your muse." she sat the drink down in front of me. she is speaking gobbity gook and suggesting i was an alcoholic. I was outraged.
"mouchette, you... how could you say this? do you want to hurt me? do you want me to feel bad?"
"again billy, this is all we know. I think you must ask yourself that question." she said again putting it back on me.
{what is her angle? what is she getting at? i want her to go with the flow.}
i took the drink in one gulp then slammed the heavy short glass motioning for another drink, nectar of the gods.
" vodka and tonic yes?" she called from across the bar.
"ha!! i would like a whiskey and coke, if you put pepsi in there i will fucking smack you." i said triumphantly. "you are slipping mouchette... maybe you are not my muse maybe this is just a joke."
"the joke is on you billy." she said in a tired voice and made the drink in the same dirty glass.
{and the joke was on me. i hate whiskey. in an attempt to be belligerent i asked for something i didn't want. what is this? do i have control? yes, i have all the control. when i am here i am king and she is the servant. So why do i feel so helpless.}
the neon light from out side the bar shined through my half empty short glass, casting glimmers of light onto the slick bar top. the lights danced across the fine finished wood as i turned the glass between my thumb and index finger. suddenly i felt alone. no longer alone by choice, but alone... just helplessly alone.
"well billy, I'm here" felicia said out of nowhere.
"how did you get here." I asked.
"you let me in silly, what kind of question is that?" was the condescending reply.
now i am simply sick of this shit.
"are you going to fuck with me too felicia!" i shot the whiskey down my throat and the words and fumes came out my mouth like fire.
"i don't know how you got here. i don't know why you keep coming back. i didn't open that fucking door you waltzed in here yourdamnself."
"billy right now you want me here. i found the door and walked through it just like you did. billy, ask yourself these questions and you will find the answers you are looking for". felicia ordered a mineral water and drank while i thought about what she said.
i first came here when i was sixteen it was 1998 ten years passed and now i am twenty six. i found this place when i was contemplating suicide. we all know i'm no strait lacer who tied up his shoes to awalk on the wild side. i never gave anything too much, and got so much in return. she was always here when i needed her. at times she made me feel special, at times she couldn't have made me feel more worthless. I would run away, but only in presence and in the stealth of the night i would visit. the price i pay is her always haunting me, for not a day goes by... not a day goes by. did i want a suicide kit for christmas? not really, i just wanted to show other children how to play with the toy. i am no longer a child, but i still play with this toy. i'll still show to get the max amount fun even if you just watch the other children. something eternal made fameous by the hands of its creator. that's it.
"felicia i come here because, as long as people come here i cannot die... i will live forever. this is the gift she gave me and i tell you, i don't know if i deserve it". just when i thought i was opening up felicia started to laugh a hysterical laugh. then lucy and phil joined in. chris and will snow chime in and it is now a chorus of laughter. joe lee, mackellar, elaine, odd orange, dead inside, just a girl, and many others have the bar quaking with laughter. in spite of myself i start to chuckle as well, but i had to ask.
"felicia why are we laughing?"
"although it sounds like an oxymoron in the most basic sense, you wanting to live forever is all fine and good" she said as she points across the bar with her finger resting towards the bartender "but what happens when she dies?"
that very moment i had a revelation and with that change in my mind a change happened in mouchette. her cigarette burned eyes stared at me as she poured me another vodka and tonic, her smile was just crack on her plastic face.

billy the freak
21 May 2009 M.M. a.k.a. billy the freak hello friends,
you...i don't know what to say. you are certainly thought provoking. you are so right, mediocrity is sure fire way to a simple life. i find being educated, talented, and different in a dumbed down society makes you a target on many levels. i live in a place where they cannot read, but can certainly multiply further diluting humanity. am i renegade? am i an anomaly? i don't feel as if i'm a part of everything else.
cassie olivia,
please, before you kill yourself consider billy's suicide solutions to give you the perfect end to a not so perfect life. email me for a quote.
time warp,
you really should only stay up till 3:00 in the morning if you are reading through my past post. these can be found in mouchettes favourites archive and of course in the fameous users search under billy. watch the movie donnie darko i think this will put some of your thoughts in perspective.
oh, elaine and joe lee great to see you again. now lets see if we can get some of our old friends to visit.
I think we need more friends to make the game interesting.

billy the freak
16 May 2009 Enzyme O.K. my charming undead miscreants. Captain Enzyme is back with more. I really should be writing my screenplay but I do love all you demon bats so. Gotta post. First off, it seems that old shuddering hag, "lack of love/loss of affection/isolation" is still bogging everyone down. Again and again. She’s a suppurating spinster that won’t relax her grip on your throats my dears. So let’s take her on. Many of us naturally suffer from the paradox of a loveless, peppermint-flavored existence. Counting on our clawed fingers the people that adore us. The list diminishes. You choke on the hissing feline sensation that you’re a cog in the machine, a drowsy doddering afterbirth, shuddering and clawing your face off while no one takes notice, yes? I know my darling dryads, I know. Truth is, the acquisition of other humanoids who adore you is a poor qualifier of one’s merit. Think upon those slogging peons you know who have the adoration of other carbon-biased forms of life. Honestly, are they as lusciously sensitive as you? Do they wrap their animal spirits in warping insanity and eternal goblin delight? Didn’t think so. How many times have they watched “Labyrinth”, huh? Most likely they are not interesting, not in the cosmic “Dirk Bogarde” sense anyway. Run of the mill (great term!). Why? Because the less complex of a creature you are, the easier it is for others to convince themselves they ‘love’ you. The more of a blank attractive slate you are, the simpler it is for others to project their ideals upon your Etch-A-Sketch scalp. We beasts of the underworld are few and far between. A rarified endangered species, and we can only truly mate or flourish around our own kind. You know of what I speak. Some of you may even be married, with comrades abounding, but still the grip of chaos and isolation tightens inside your golden ribcage. The shuddering clarity you fear is omnipresent. Deep down in the copper mine of yourself you know they are not your real tribe. Not your breed of cerebral cortex. So you feel alone. Pitiful. Trapped. All you really long for is other rare shuddering psychokinetic underlings who, like, really really “grok” you, man. Naturally you’re going to be disappointed if you expect us to be around every corner. It’s like digging up your yard looking for moles and expecting every mole you find to be a rare Brazilian naked mole-rat with corrugated albino eyes worth millions on the naked mole-rat black market. ‘Aint gonna happen. Nor would you want it to, think of the adverse effect it would have on the mole market’s price fluctuation. Regardless, you see the point I’m making here. So what can you do? Well, think of your vibrating demonic dawn-soul as a submarine beacon humming and transmitting radio signals out across the interstate to the rest of your creed. If you are indeed an endangered species you owe it to the rest of us to stay alive, if only so the ecosystem isn’t clogged with boring happy people who love life, have great sex, and walk around with frozen grins on their Plasticine features. Can’t let those punks win out. What would you say to the last of the endangered monkey-whales drifting through the cataclysmic deep of the ocean’s womb? Cherish your rarity. And invest in naked mole-rats.

Love Enzyme, of the Petrified Forest.

P.S. Plus, by some miracle you could grow up, meet Mouchette at some subterranean cocktail party, fall in love, and travel around the country killing people and living in tree houses ala “Badlands”. Hey, it could happen, you never know…
13 May 2009 Kuborion Remember, kids!
When you're asking for help on a site like this, it's extremely rude to kill yourself before it's even posted.
13 May 2009 Kuborion If you really need to convince yourself that life is worth living, then maybe the answer's just no.
17 Apr 2009 Ken G Hi. I'm a 51 year old guy. No I'm not going to tell you how to kill yourself. Because I know you and everyone else thinking about doing that..

Rooftop of an 18 story building? Been there. Standing on a ladder with a rope around my neck? Yup. Confined for 72 hours against my will in a lock down ward? 3 weeks inpatient therapy at a mental hospital? Done those too. And about 20 different meds.

And then one of the meds started working. I'm lucky. For some people meds don't work or have awful side effects. There's no way to tell except try them. And that takes time. Took me 18 years. No they're not happy pills.

But they can take away the desperation. And then you see new ways to think.

When we were young we wanted to put everything in categories with names. But that limits how you see and think. "Am I gay or straight?" 2 categories. But you can be sometimes one, or the other, or both, or in the middle. Sex is like a game. If you say to yourself "I'm totally a football player." Fine, play football. But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy baseball too.

So many times I hear depressed or stressed people say "Such is the only way." That's limited thinking. Without limits the horrible can be seen as just an annoyance.

I owe my life to a guy named Matt (I don't even know his last name) that talked me out of jumping 31 years ago. It's been rough at times. But worth it.

I hope before killing yourself that you'll consider maybe your thinking could change and whatever reasons you have might not be fixed in stone. And that maybe, someday, you'll like yourself and the world.

I'll check in here every once and a while. Feel free to ask anything either here or in email.
13 Apr 2009 entry two Hello Mouchette, I hope you're well. I'm disregarding your prompt again, sorry. There's a baby dying outside my window. Then again it's probably just a cat murmuring, with help from overtones of my imagination. I wish I slept in a bed with lots and lots of strange people, now that's the way to live, or sleep, rather. These things I say are all bullshit. I will continue to contradict myself while fearing each new utterance and creation. Thats preposterous, I'm sorry, I'm not helping any cause. I show my true colors in cyberspace and bleed into blurbs, watching the green flicker of text as badly spelled sentences of someone not thinking mind(out loud!, in text,) types out their strongly one sided yet poorly worded argument of "ballsack". I apologies, this is non sensible, and would surely offended any English teacher. Just remember, your preconceptions magnified is what sculpts your society into a strict rule book. Just laugh at what is and carry on with your indifference in the world of what's not.

P.S. It's my birthday today. Huzzah I'm dying!
10 Apr 2009 entry one These days, I wear no socks, I find no need. My spit is mixed with other substances and my nose is always running. I am also convinced a ten year old boy is gay for me, or maybe I'm just very bored. Really, I'm just loosing my imagination, which is a strange process. I'm afraid this might be hard to read because of how often I shift thoughts. Sorry about that. All my money has been spent on friendship, which is starting to take the form of pot.
Today I am not high though. Thinking results in a bad mood, not thinking results in injury. The in-between is very mundane, to me at-least.
Oh, by the way, pardon me, but I haven't yet addressed your question Mouchette, I don't plan on doing it either, if that's alright with you.
I wonder if what I'm doing right now can be called something. Naming things makes them less real.
I'm always apologizing because I'm always confronted with the idea that what I'm doing is not at all what I wish it was. Whatever, I've finally experienced legitimate criticism, which only leads back to my original road of interpretation. If there are such things as parallel universes does the clause of prospective still exist? What I mean to say is:
If this is reality why is it different for everyone?
Please try and think about what you're doing with your life next time you buy coffee or do school work or try to hold a conversation you don't at all have interest in with someone.
If you find your self feeling bad though try and grasp the idea that rules don't exist and everything is only matter, the fact that you can understand the abstract is the reason you might feel miserable.
What if you didn't?
01 Apr 2009 bahia life is a good suicide...
13 Mar 2009   The truth is, I only act humorous as performance, I'm well aware of how crazy I look all the time. I can't control the outward reflection of this neurosis, so I am forced make it a comedy for anyone near by. I hate the way I act around people, I'm such an asshole really. If any of them knew how truly empty I feel, and how every faltering step of ambition is analyzed till I feel sick, and how much I hate myself, and how many things I've kept secret, fuck.
This bottle wont finish itself, goodnight.
11 Mar 2009 Venla Thank you for calling 1-800-SUICIDE
If you wish to self terminate by electric shock - press one
For termination by overdose - press two
If you would like to make a reservation at the end of our drowning pool - please press three
For termination by hanging - please press four
For death by self inflicting gunshot - press five
To speak to a representative, stay online
If you do not wish to die - please hang up now

Zeromancer - Doctor online
22 Jan 2009 Jeff Here's something I was thinking about. It only works for people who believe there is more than this life though, amd don't know what's on the other side like myself. I believe there is more than this world because I see so many coincidences sometimes that it seems to me something is happening behind the scenes. I'm sorry this doesn't work for people who believe death is the ultimate end though.

It's kind of like Pascal's Wager, applied to suicide. If the next life is a terrible place even worse than this world, then you should stay here because it's better. But if there is a better world than where we are, then it's probably by design that we're here. Why else would we have left it? We probably came here to learn and to experience. And by commiting suicide you are checking out early. There's obviously something to be gained by sticking around. So when we finally do return to that better place, we made the best of our choice to come and be alive here, we suffered and we endured.

It's the cool people that commit suicide because they don't belong in this world. We see the way things should be. But it's because of that that we should stay here. We are the ones who understand, and we are here for a reason, though we may not know why while we're here.
26 Dec 2008 Aureus Dear Mouchette,

What do you do when almost every thought that enters your mind runs along the standpoint of suicide, yet you are too afraid to give it a try?
26 Dec 2008 Mark If you packed some can, tea,
A few packs of biscuit, cigarettes,
A fairy-chess booklet and something to drink:
Roll down the shutter.
Let the clock stop.
The phone rings often: people are so wilful.
Spot waiting in the knurly glass.
The hood of the mail slot smacks.
Peeked... but inside: haze.
After: no more phone calls, no more visitors.
And your doormat
chocked to your door for days now...

Did you know that the is printed in a tachen-book? the title is newmedia-art.

i am here because i red the book in hungary.
26 Dec 2008 Murderer at your service If I could murder one person in your life, whom would you want me to kill?
19 Nov 2008 Aureus Dear Mouchette,
Today I downed a bunch of pills (apparently not enough)... and the thoughts that ran through my head were a whirlwind of distortion. Somewhere along the way, my mind stumbled upon you for a brief moment. I wondered where you were in the world at the moment I ingested this substance. I wondered what you look like and what you do for a living. You must be confused yourself to host a suicide website... but who am I to place judgement? Life to me has been this strange merry go round, I've tried to hold on tight to the handle bars as the music courses through this misguided brain of mine. Sometimes I fall off only to get back on, I wonder if there is anyone else with me on this strange mechanism of false happiness. I hope someday soon I can walk off without getting dizzy, or stop the ride myself...

Until next time Mouchette.
11 Nov 2008 Kuborion When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom,
Let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom,
Let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people
living in the world agree,
there will be an answer,
Let it be.
For though they may be parted
there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer.
Let it be.

Let it be, let it be, .....

And when the night is cloudy,
there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow,
Let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music,
Mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom,
Let it be.

Let it be, let it be, .....
02 Oct 2008 the poet's entourage What's with being left out and feeling like its your fault entirely?

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