So I had a pretty crappy childhood. I first thought about suicide in 2003, when I was 16 years old. I made a best friend (the first one I had in many, many years) and he treated me like dirt. I was so lonely because I had just moved to another school after 10 years, and he was my only friend. I didn't attempt suicide back then, though. I used to just cut myself. A few years later I started feeling bad again. I remember going out one Halloween near the cementary, and trying to find a tree to hang myself. I chicked out though. The only time I actually tried to kill myself was a couple of years ago. I was starting college and hating it (too fast, too difficult and too cold) and that day I stayed home and tried to cut myself, for real. I couldn't, so I went outside and tried to hang myself from a tree. The roof of the dog house - where I was standing - fell, and I didn't do it. I think I might have if it hadn't fallen. A couple of months ago I had a terrible fight with my parents and I left. I was spending the day at a motel and had planned to hang myself with the sheets. I started suffocating but I chickened out once more... damn it. I called home and begged those people for forgiveness. I have threatened to kill myself, desperately trying for my family to show a bit of sympathy and compassion, and maybe try to make me feel a bit better. But they always mock and insult me for it. I don't believe in the society I live in, and one of the few deterrents for killing myself is the fact that the local newspaper would publish my full name, address and perceived reason for my suicide. And that kind of pisses me off. But I really hate being here, in this world.