I wrote this when i thought I had it all together... I am back in the pits again... but maybe it will help you understand me. Deady :dry: Pasted below: "Dead Alive; my story" Introduction: The next few paragraphs is a bit graphic at first but I want the truth to be told; because I believe there is someone out there... maybe you or someone you know that needs to know that you are not alone. My hidden secrets... are exposed... and those dark skeletons that once rattled in the closet of my mind; have and are still being dealt with. I have found some peace... and maybe this message will help you take some baby steps toward finding some peace for some of you as well. I originally wrote this in a mental hospital after a suicide attempt. The first draft was over twenty two hundred hand written pages long. I had to condense it here. So you might need to take this story slow and try to read between the lines and for some of you; reflect on events in your life and see if you can see yourself in my life somehow. Our conclusions may never be the same; but my intent of this document is to save your life or someone you know. I can tell you from personal experience; other people's lives have changed as the result of reading this essay. If you are on life's ragged edge; and are standing on the edge between life and death... then listen to one who has been there... for many years. If you die... you can not recover. I may never meet you. But if you just be willing to listen to one more person... even as you may be tired and weary as many might be right now. To the suicidal: If you decide to live... your hellish journey out is just the beginning. You will have to make some decisions as I did. You will have to decide whether you are hungry enough to search for the truth and find the purpose for your existence. This is hard work. Do it and you may find peace and create that new purpose to go on living. Understand; I am still suicidal... I have not arrived yet... but I learned some things... I learned we are in this together... and we need each other.. and we can be friends and help each other out and one day you and I will be tomorrow's leaders to assist others. We can not lead if we are so insensitive to other's cries if we have forgotten our own grief completely. We will carry the mental anguish with us the rest of our lives... but we can face it and make it something to cherish instead of something to vigorously escape from. If you are suicidal and choose to ignore me, you may reap an empty meaningless life; and die in the grave never knowing why you are here. Most people die this way. Whether you are in your twenties or thirties... or play life out like the rest and live full lives. One day you will look back at all the wasted years squandered; knowing that when you are 80 years old; that it is too late to make a difference and miss the reason you were put on this earth and regret this till your dying breath. Most hide from this reality... they do anything to cover up the truth about themselves. But little do they realize the vanity of building a successful life only to watch it bleed away as old men...or some sort of self imposed suicide that is acceptable to society; such as smoking, drinking, or overeating ourselves to death to escape the gnawing pain that eats at us like a cancer all day long. We run from it; try not to think about the pain... but it is there... and we notice it most when we are alone in our bedrooms at night. Suicide is not an insane act. It is a desperate attempt to gain control over our lives when all our options seemingly have failed. We choose death over the insanity of mortal pain that tears us apart inside. We choose death because we can not find a way out of this dark chasm and we can not see how our actions are harming other people who love us; nor can they understand or reach us because we are so blind in our grief that we mistakenly believe that no one loves us because we believe that we ourselves can not be loved because we are inferior in our eyes every time we look at ourselves in the eye in the bathroom mirror! So... how does one escape this hopeless life? We have to come to the end of ourselves. We have to realize that we are completely helpless and will need to depend on others to assist us because we are blind in this dark pit and can not see a way out. Someone will have to lower a rope... and we will need to grasp around till we can find the end of it and hang on to it to climb out. I had to make a decision one day. I had to decide whether to let my own thinking kill me or to bravely be willing to change it for something more positive. Many of you are in a dark dark pit that you do not think you can escape from. You can. But you must first ask yourself if you really want to feel happy and liberated from that pit? For years I subconsciously "liked" being there because it was comfortable to me. I mean I was so familiar with my chaotic lifestyle that to change it to something different from what I was used to, seemed very uncomfortable to me. So you must really think hard and ask yourself if you want a better life or would you prefer to continue down the same insane path; expecting different results each cycle... which will in time... lead to your destruction. If I want to heal... I must stay with people that can help me. I must depend on others to get me out of my pit. I sometimes forget and have to relearn old lessons again and again. What I can tell you is that when I help other people find a way out of their suicidal tendencies... I find that I heal a little inside myself. Don't you see! We are made for each other... we can not live our lives all by ourselves and think we can manage to get by. Sooner or later we will fall... and no one may be there to pick us up. This is my story... as written when I was in recovery after a suicide attempt. I request you read it twice... and let the words sink in. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I was raised in a large English tutor in the rolling hills of Kentucky. We lived a short distance south of Cincinnati with woods, fields, trees, ponds, streams; a playground any kid could ever dream of living in and yet... My parent's world seemed not as happy as mine was. I am not sure exactly how things started to change. But I vaguely remember when I was about six; dad scaring us kids when he'd fall asleep while driving the car. Sometimes he was sick and would vomit all over the floor. Over the years; mom developed a nasty temperament. I vividly remember her pulling us kids around by the hair. We received daily lickings with dad's leather belt. We probably deserved it but if we truly were innocent; then she'd tell us that it was for something that we got away with. We never knew when it was coming. When dad came home from a long day at work; mom would scream at him to do something about us kids and he would hit us too. Dad gave us "love-taps" as he called them. Our bodies were covered with welts and cuts. If that weren't enough then I received black eyes and the rest of us had our hands pushed into scalding hot water if we got caught stealing food. Every time I got beat; I learned to disassociate from it; to numb the pain. I didn't feel the pain as much if I pretended mentally to be an "outsider" peering in. People around us noticed; some called the cops, but when I was younger we didn't have the child abuse laws that we have today. Most people would look the other way. And we were constantly warned not to tell people what went on at home or something worse would happen to us. As each year went by, I got harder and meaner inside. With all the beatings I received; I never once was hugged or told that I meant anything to my parents. Nothing hurt worse than all the screaming insults hurled at you. I think the things they told us hurt worse than the sting of the lashes. Mother would scream; "I wish you were never born. She would tell us how rotten and worthless we were. It seemed that nothing ever made them satisfied. We gave up trying to please them; I avoided them as the result of fear of future reprisals. Mom would get out this black handkerchief and tell me that my soul was as black as that rag before God. She would tell us how angry God was at us for disobeying them. I lived my whole childhood believing that no one could be trusted. Not even God. I was seven when mom penetrated me with her finger; hooked it and pulled out bloody flesh one day in the bathroom. Bright pools of blood splattered on the floor. It was my first encounter with molestations; with more to come later when I was a run-away. (I learned years later from my grandmother; that she thought mom was molested by her father. She wanted to break my spirit; so that I would behave... it was terror that kept me in line back then. If someone touched me off guard at school. I flinched or jumped... my nerves were raw. But no one ever knew what happened behind those closed windows at home. It was a secret held in shame... we and the seed instilled in me was to hate myself... I hated myself at seven and I carry that shame with me to this day.