I was 8 years old. 39 now, I wanted to die so much at 8. My mom was a teacher. She had an 8 year old student dying from bone cancer. I was jealous of him. I prayed to God that he would give me the cancer and take it from the boy. I wanted to die that much. The boy died from cancer. I stopped praying and believing in God. I hated myself for a lot of reasons and still do. I have thought about suicide from that age on. It never ends. I think about it every day without fail. I hated myself for being gay, socially awkward with no friends, and for not being smart as I failed at a lot of things. I regret having people rely on me for things now and not ending my life when I was young. I still want to die.