Hello SF, I came here thinking that maybe my experiences would be helpful to some of you, and help you get a perspective that I didn't have. Instead I ended up trying to blow sunshine up your asses. I'm sorry. Let me start over. Who I am: Nobody, it's not important. What's my story: I have chronic major depression. I was on medication, but it didn't help. My father and hero died next to me in our house after a pathetically short battle with liver cancer. The doctors gave him 2 years, and he died after 4 months. So much for miracles. That was 8 years ago. One of my closest friends committed suicide after a long bout with depression. At the time he did it, we all thought he was finally getting better. He never told us about his true feelings. We never asked. That was 3 years ago. Compound stress in my life has left me a very unhealthy individual over many years. What I've done: I have scars on my arms from my many past battles with myself. My records say that I've attempted suicide twice, but in actuality I only really tried once. The second time I backed out. I'm only alive because the method I used is very unreliable. I've threatened people I loved with violence - that memory is my deepest and most hated scar. I still self hurt every time I feel upset - but I merely punch walls, scream until I'm breathless or bite my arm. Nothing very brutal anymore. Not like back then. I've also thought... a lot. I thought, and prayed, and asked God for understanding. Eventually I got a little. Enough. Most of it was thoughts of darkness; of the darker morality of suicide. I'd like to say I've survived my depression. But the truth is I'm only surviving. It wasn't an easy road - no... I couldn't think of anything more difficult. No matter how rational I try to be, I am still far far far too emotional to listen to reason. ... My friend committed suicide without ever talking to us about it. Nor his mom, nor his brother. After he died, I found out that he had a second group of friends. They were drug addicts, and they made fun of him for his talk of suicide, basically "calling his bluff." He was genuinely in love with one of them too, and she did not reciprocate that emotion. He was closer to them than he was with us for the last year of his life. He was employed alongside them, and they were troubled individuals. I bet he thought we wouldn't be able to relate to him like they could. I don't know... I don't know what the fuck he thought. Yet I don't know whether I should be happy for him for getting the end he wanted, hurt by him for leaving us without even trying to trust us, or angry at him for dumping all his shit onto us. The only thing I'm certain of is that I miss him all the time. ...So I will probably be prone to biting your head off if you talk about "my loved ones won't care if I died." That strikes a very sensitive nerve of mine. Nevertheless, I want to be here. I'm not going to offer sunshine or hugs anymore, I doubt that's what you want anyway. I've studied philosophy, which is never going to pay off in monetary terms, but maybe I can prattle about existence and suicide. I know how confusing existence can get, and you feel torn in a million directions... all there is is pain. Anxiety... not the fear of dying, but the fear of living. Anyway, I don't even think I can really honestly help, but I'll be around to chat. I will try my best to remain impartial from now on. But as I said before, I'm emotional, not rational. I relate easier to feelings than logic, even if I wish it were the other way. So I WILL lose my temper. I don't really think I should have to apologize for that. ...Since you've been warned :wink: Ciao.