Hi. I feel as if I have so much to say that I don't even know where to begin, surely a more than familiar enough feeling for many of the fellow posters here. I'll try my best. It’s bound to be really long, though, so bear with me. I'm a 25 year-old guy who loves, among other things, classical music (I play the piano since I was 14), animals, languages and reading. I'm an only child, and I live with my mother since my parents got separated about 8 years ago. That (their separation) hit me, of course, and for a while I felt quite sad but nowhere near suicidal or clinically depressed, not even the odd sleeping pill or anything similar, and by now I can safely say I've got completely over it. The fact it was such a peaceful breakup definitely helped a lot there. I've had, like many others in this world of ours, my fair share of 'ups and downs', and I remember there were times, when I was a lot younger, when I thought of killing myself. But back then I never truly intended to do such a thing, and the things that led me to think about such a decision were most of the time not really serious things. I'm glad I never actually did such a thing because it would've been an almost unbelievably stupid reaction given the truly silly things I would've done it for. Today it's very different. I didn't go to university, even though I did finish high school. In another time, I might've said I don't know why I didn't go to university, but now I think it was because I felt quite at a loss as to what to study. Originally, I'd intended to enter the National School of Music here, (piano degree) and I even took the necessary tests, scoring great in the first one (the theoretical one) and quite lousy in the second (the practical one), which led to my not being admitted. I know, why didn't I pursue that further if I love music so much? I thought about it, but that time I was so downcast and disappointed, that I preferred not to, focusing on language learning. In the end, I think I just wouldn't have the necessary patience and dedication to study piano professionally. I do love music and the piano, but I truly don't think I would make it in a degree. The problem is I can’t find any job in which I can use my language skills because they all either require you to have a degree or to have experience, a lot usually. But while at first I thought my problem was just finding a job, now I feel that, no matter what job I do, I feel more and more alienated from everyone, and ending with a crappily paid job, and pretty much blowing myself out like a candle, trying to earn a living, while losing my life at the same time, just seems to me like hell but one I could avoid. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to excuse myself for my past decisions. I know one should always face the consequences of one’s actions, but that’s precisely why I feel more convinced with each day that killing myself is the best shot I’ve got to avoid a truly infernal situation. As if that wasn’t enough, there’s more to my wanting to die than what I just wrote. Seeing the way things are going in the world, the big picture, I mean, makes me sink to the bottom of hopelessness. I feel ‘lost’, not like I don’t have a million paths to choose from, but rather that there’s no longer even a path for me to follow other than that of suicide. In the country I live in the crime rules, de facto and de jure, as simple as that. I have almost no one with whom to share my passions, the things I love, with whom to talk as freely as I don’t think I’ve ever had. Even in my building, no one can get organized and get essential things done such as the building’s maintenance; and lately, a bunch of idiots have been using it as a sort of pelota court, even at night, yelling at the top of their voices, and 9 out of 10 words they say are swearwords, and they don’t give a damn about it because they know we can’t do anything. Call the police? So they just give them a little slap on the hand and ask them to please not do it anymore? Or not even that? Confront them? knowing they’re such jerks that they’ll later be throwing stones at our windows or sticking a blade knife into our chest if we do that? Because they’re so brave when they’re all together, and since they’re young, they like to defy everyone who crosses their way. Get the neighbors to set up a fence around the building to prevent these idiots to keep doing that? We can’t even get organized to get new water tanks for the building! And being told over and over that there’s no point in getting angry about it because ‘what can we do anyway?’ is driving me madder even. Then what the hell are we supposed to do?? Let them keep screwing us with their crap?...At times I swear I’ve felt like going downstairs and just knifing them so they get the message, but then imagine what a “nice, comfy paradise” I would be in, in prison, for doing such a thing? Anyways, I’ve got only a couple of friends but I can’t bring myself to tell them any of this, I just can’t, any more than I can tell my mother or my father about it. They are both true fighters, with a strong will to live, very brave, a lot more than myself, and I just can’t bring myself to see the piercing disappointment, the painful disbelief in their eyes, maybe even the anger at realizing what a weakling their only son is. I mean, imagine paying good schools so I could get a really good education, getting me so many things to enlarge my cultural knowledge, working so bloody hard so we never lacked anything essential and even some non-essential things, and suddenly it turns out that their only son is someone who doesn’t even know what to do with his life? I know they decided to do that, so that part is not my fault, since I didn’t put a gun to their heads to force them to sacrifice things for me or anything like that, but still, how could I look them in the eyes and tell them I want to kill myself, and that’s it? How could I do that after my mother hugged me so tightly just a few days ago and told me she loved me so much? Or after I saw my father a couple of months ago and he told me he had told some of his friends that his son is a champion? Sometimes, in the past, I used to say I wish I hadn’t been born, now I don’t anymore. I don’t really know whether I truly wish I had never been born, at times I still feel like that, but then I know that’s an unfair thing to say considering my life has had its fair share of truly beautiful things, too. And yet there are times when I so wish I could get hold of a certain substance that I know a friend of mine might be able to get since she’s a chemist, and shoot it straight into my heart. But it’d be hard enough even for her to get it, and I know she would never even start to consider helping me out with that. And I’m not sure of trying other methods because most of them have a high likelihood of leaving me in a much, much worse situation, maybe with my liver shattered, or my brain turned to mush… At times, I feel immensely pathetic for wanting to end it all, I mean, hell, I’m not pulling a rickshaw in some city in India, with my lungs torn to shreds, having to chew betel so people don’t realize it’s my own blood I’m spitting, having to get blood drawn so I can eat something, anything at all. I’m not being forced to prostitute myself, or living on the streets, or having to eat my own feces because there’s just nothing else to eat, like I’ve heard of people doing in some devastatingly poor parts of the world. When I see people without legs and / or arms, or with brain paralysis, or AIDS, or Down syndrome, or similar / worse conditions, and see them coping well enough, bravely, I feel even more dreadful, a poor, weak idiot who maybe doesn’t deserve to live at all. But then, not everyone who commits suicide is going through the sort of infernal situations I mentioned above. Sometimes just being awake and realizing where you are, the way things work in this life, dimension, or whatever it is, is enough to shatter your hopes to pieces and leave you with nothing to clutch at for support. Realizing hell’s existence can be almost as unbearably painful and torturing as actually going through it. Images flash through my mind more and more often; I see myself lying on a pool of blood and my mother finding me and her terror and anguish freeze my heart and make it hurt. I’ve even thought of jumping from the top of my building, which is 18 stories high. A neighbor did it many years ago. He was about my age when he did that. Apparently, he had become a drug addict, for my father found him one night when he arrived from work shooting what he suspected was heroine on one of the main stairways. And only some months after that, he jumped from the roof of the building. I was about 12 back then, and I remember I heard this huge crash, and I thought someone must have let some truly heavy piece of furniture roll down the stairs or something, it had been a deafening sound. And only after looking out of one of our windows did we realize it was he who was on the floor, next to the building, on a puddle of blood that grew larger and larger. Some guys who were passing by and knew him tried to help him, but he died almost instantly after crashing against the floor. I fantasy about doing the same thing myself sometimes because I know it would be a sure death, only a real miracle could keep me from dying from such a fall, but the few times I’ve been on the top floor and have looked down from it, I feel a freezing chill in my heart. I don’t know if I’ve got the guts needed to actually do it. Belonging is overrated, at least that’s what some people say, and I’m with them on that one, actually, I truly believe it is. The problem is it can sometimes get really hard to bear, being so alone, so cut-off, especially when you see what the others who ‘belong’ are doing, which is not always so good. Where I live, times are most definitely changing for the f…ing worse, and stopping and reversing that process seems so immensely remote by now that it makes me feel as hopeless as I don’t think I’d ever felt before. I read somewhere over here someone’s post where they said that having children is selfish, and I think it certainly can be, but the problem is sometimes it’s more the result of all this crap of keeping people as miserable, idiotic and ignorant as possible so governments can sink them even further down the pit with less and less effort. My mother told me herself that, in the end, while she doesn’t truly regret having had me, she realizes now it was a rash and stupid decision caused by a variety of factors, including the fact that she came from a highly dysfunctional family and not having carefully thought it out, whether she and my father actually had not only the economical means to support us, but also the emotional means; they (my parents) didn’t stop for a moment to take a good look around at the world they were living in, didn’t realize that the country I’d grow up was already starting its way down a dreadfully crappy path, that it is a place where you only have good opportunities if you leave it. Both came from dysfunctional families, neither thought carefully about what living together would be like, let alone about having children or not. And I don’t blame them for what I’m currently going through, in the slightest, I swear. Because I know they didn’t do it on purpose, they just made some big mistakes, like some I’ve made myself, traps to which it can be a lot easier to fall than one thinks. But then, what? If I no longer have the will to live, should I remain around just so that no one who cares about me suffers? I wish with all my soul I didn’t have to make anyone suffer, but that would be possible only if I hadn’t been born at all, or if I had no bonds of any sort to any living being, and it’s very late for that now. And what about one’s own suffering? How do you weigh your suffering and the possible suffering others would feel if you left, and take your pick? I don’t know if anyone will be better if I leave, it frightens me to think how devastated my parents would be if I killed myself, but I see in the mirror the hopelessness in my eyes and I’m just as scared of living on just for the sake of doing it, to prevent a potential suffering in others, and ending up like a ghost of my former self, having to witness more and more of this chaos, and suffering its effects myself, too; being a bitter and pathetic man, already entangled in even worse problems, and wondering why the hell he didn’t just grab a gun and put an end to it all years and years ago… I used to find huge comfort and hope in the things I love such as classical music, language learning, going to bookshops and libraries and going for walks in the park, and I still do, but there are times when I feel like I’m drowning and like not even that can keep me for much longer from just blowing my life out. It’s an immensely dreadful and overwhelming feeling. Maybe I really should never have been born at all. No, I’m not self-pitying, I think it would’ve saved me but also a few other people a lot of pain. And good things, too, I know…oh god, this is a mess.