I wonder if I joined this forum to gain attention or to express myself. I don't understand how people can continue to function and feel like this. I barely eat anymore. I'm losing weight, muscle mass, whatever. It's been almost a month and all I can do is sleep and sit and continue to think about it. I tried a couple of years ago. I've started cutting again. I don't mean cat scratches. I mean deep meaningful cuts that continue to bleed for a few minutes. I've slowly pushed everyone away except my parents who won't let me. I've withdrawn from the university. I've left my apartment. I've abandoned that whole life over something everyone keeps saying happens to everyone as if I'm completely unaware. So what do you do when therapy doesn't make a difference? Take pills for a physiological problem hardly any of us actually have? Is it not natural to feel agony at certain points? Yes but not to the extent of suicide. That's what they'd say. They throw you in a mental ward for a few days until you lie your way out of there and back into a life you've denied of it's worth. Everyone wants you to take baby steps and hopes you'll come to your senses and see that everything will somehow be okay. They're just saying anything they can because they feel helpless to your needs... or apparent lack thereof. They start making you feel guilty about how your loss will affect them. As if you care at this point. As if that makes much difference. They're being as selfish as you are. Then you've got your fanatics that want to open you up to Jesus. People that look at death as a wonderful thing, a new beginning, in a place with useless streets of gold. But wait suicide lands you in hell. But you're already in hell. And if hell is physical pain for eternity....wouldn't that be like cutting yourself to take your mind off the mental pain? So after talking to everyone who wants to help you and finding nothing of value or reason as to why you shouldn't, you rip off the plastic of the only blade they'll still allow you, the one that shaves the hair off your body. You break the plastic away from the blades and always end up cutting your fingers a little bit. Leaving those annoying little skin flaps that take too long to go away. And then you contemplate opening those beautiful veins that in your now bone thin arm show clear. But then your mother pops into your head and she's crying and she won't let you. She hugs you and tells you she loves you now more than ever. And then you cuss and open up areas where the old scars are. I'm waiting for that darkness to come again so I can open them and selfishly liberate myself from a life denied entirely of it's worth. Don't bother with your sympathies. Don't express things I'm already aware of. Don't lie to me because you can't. Don't tell me it's all going to be okay. If anything tell me you feel the same way. Tell me you understand and can't wait for it to come for yourself as well. I'm a 21 year old male... and I don't want another birthday.