Letting Go What do you do when your spirit has lost the will to live? And the windows to your Soul are glazed with a misty sheen of vacancy? What do you do when your heart beats rapid, but not for love? And when every magnificent sunset fails to stir emotion? What do you do when endless sighs are all that you breathe? And the laughter has turned to tears? What do you do when love turns to hate? And the spring in your step now ambles a sluggish trail? What do you do when you no longer hear the song of a bird? But the voices in your mind that tell you to give up? What do you do? You seek help! I wrote that poem when I was at the lowest of the low. When I resided in the abyss and gave up on life. I later added the "You seek help" I have read many of your posts. Some of whom were, and/or are... suicidal. I want to say to you that it does get better. Here is an old cliche: "Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem." It is one that I have to agree with. We ALL have problems, some large, some small, some gigantic. If you view these problems more as challenges in which to learn and grow from it certainly makes life easier. We were not all born perfect; if we did not experience pain we would never evolve and become stronger beings. We would either remain stagnant or regress. The choice is yours, and ONLY yours! If you choose to bury your problems beneath the dusty carpet they are never going to go away. You can suppress them within your subconscious until another one comes along, then do the same with that. Eventually you may implode. How can we possibly think lucidly with all that mush floating around in our heads? If you want to die, there is a reason. If you are oblivious to the reason then you may well have a chemical imbalance and need medication. If you do know the problem..... Confront it! Deal with it, and move on. Do not tell me it cannot be done! I was raised by a mentally abusive father who I adored. My mother was a manic depressive who was dealing with her own crisis at hand, and I was thrown out on the street when I was 16. I lived a life of mental hell. Yes, I even attempted suicide at one point. I ended up at a mental health facility where I felt incarcerated for 72 hours. Upon my release I "Woke Up". I looked my pain and fears in the face and I overcame all that crap. Only YOU can help you. People can support us and guide us in the right direction. They can listen to our plight and prescribe us meds, but only you can make the choice to heal yourself. Another thing, if you do decide to kill yourself imagine the intense pain you are going to cause those left behind. Is it really fair to put your loved ones through that agony because you couldn't hang? Face your problems. Face your fears. Face your pain. Don't suppress it. Get it out there. It's been 3 years since my suicide attempt, and I am now an advocate for suicide prevention. Life DOES get better! but you have to work at it, nobody said life was easy... You are feeding your soul. I am living proof that life gets better, and you have to believe that. Growth Existing in a land of grim oblivion, corrupt from the scars of life, Naked daydreams reflect upon a present state of consciousness and strife. Depression lurks, while darkened clouds emit a shadow over the desperate soul, splintered thoughts of a dejected philosophy curb to a silent anger, That devours the tender spirits goal, while a barren mind digests Every aching moment, of survival. Imprisoned and chained by the negative state of despondency and oppression, a supraliminal erosion of self satisfaction dominates the regression. Forgotten is the destiny I chose. The habitual discovery of life from which the Soul matures, As the cruel ascendance of pain encompasses a weary spirit, Deluding of all cures, anxiety and stress seep undetected from my pores, Favoring demented suicidal thoughts to conceal confrontation, Cowardly starving the soul of enlightened elevation. Forgotten, is the destiny I chose. Each and every obstacle a stagnant reminder of a trivial existence, Met with the seemingly turbulent unknown, while destiny a waits. Fractured, worn, and torn, from the deceptive onslaughts of pain my joyful spirit awakens. Twisted attempts of destruction make way for positive fulfillment, and powerful acceptance forsaken. Fear not, such lessons of life. From the book Dying to Live, confessions of suicide. YOU DO NOT.....Need to go this route! "I continued to wash down more pills with the alcohol and heard the familiar you’ve got voice mail tone, two in fact. The first was from my roommate, and the second still reads clear in my mind today. “ This is the local police dept, we’re just calling to make sure you are okay, if you have an emergency call 911” I remember thinking Oh that’s just great! Now the police are involved. This fleeting concern was superseded by the knowledge that I will be dead by the time they find me. Swallowing some more pills I sat in my car in this dark secluded spot and leaned back into my seat, I closed my eyes and waited for the drugs to kick in. I was fiercely tired, physically, mentally and emotionally, I wanted to sleep and never wake up. I was scared, confused, saddened that my life had come to this. I recall laughing through the pain that I was still relatively alert from having taken so many sleeping pills, but this is no joke. Had I of witnessed myself from above throughout this ordeal to end my life, I would have been deeply distressed. I would have cried and pleaded for it to stop, cradling her saying “It is going to be okay” IT IS GOING TO BE OKAY! Never once did I hear these words. MY words however, echoed turbulently through my consciousness: MOM COME AND GET ME Was she even looking down on her daughter? Like a child, I needed my mother. Before I knew it, I saw some extremely bright effervescent headlights speeding towards me, the lights were so blinding they stunned my vision. I had no idea who this was, and why they were invading my space. The car came to a sudden halt when out stepped my roommate and her girl friend. I must have had a sheer look of terror on my face because I was truly astounded at how they managed to find me, this being the first question I posed during what appeared to be a delusion. I was in utter shock. She raced up to my window, and asked me what I had taken; I reluctantly showed her the bottle, as she commented that the police were on the way. I became distraught again while informing her that I didn’t have Health Insurance and if they found me they will whisk me off to the hospital and quite possibly a Mental Home. I tried to engineer a deal with her, insisting I will force vomit if she allowed me to go with them instead of the police. At that moment I overheard her tell my roommate that the police had arrived. I was still crying uncontrollably as I sat there waiting to be grilled. The policeman was calm and collective as he informed me “We’re not going to arrest you, but it is illegal to commit suicide in the State of California.” I looked at him with tears streaming down my face, and affirmed with a questionable “It’s MY life” He asked me how many pills I had taken, and the inevitable “Why did you do it?” I was honest and forthright, and of course always respectful. Upon recollection, it seemed as though he was talking to me for ten minutes or so, while another officer had at one point leaned through my passenger window and confiscated the remainder of my alcohol. I really do not recall much more of the conversation, though I have a vivid recollection of my descent from the car. I was not at all happy with regards to being found, and was less appreciative upon witnessing the army of police vehicles that surrounded me. I threw my arms to the side in disbelief, thinking ‘this is insane, why all the commotion?” The police officer led me to the ambulance where I was immediately given oxygen, together with a rather nasty squeezable tube of charcoal, which I was forced to consume in its entirety. I have since learned that this disgusting concoction is known as ‘Activated charcoal’ which not only induces vomit, but primarily helps to prevent the absorption of drugs, and other poisonous substances by the stomach and intestines. I squeezed a couple of doses into my mouth, and then handed it back to the paramedic in disgust. He then informed me that I have to drink the entire tube. I thought there is no way I can drink the rest of this, but I tried relentlessly knowing that since I am not now going to die, I might as well make an effort of coming out of this relatively unscathed. I remember wiping my mouth a few times, and seeing this thick black matter all over my hands and arms. The following afternoon when I awoke I was a sight for sore eyes. My eyes were swollen from crying all evening, my face was bloated, and I had somehow managed to get the charcoal on my forehead and cheeks. I was a wreck! Physically - mentally - emotionally."