I understand that It's a bit late for introducing myself. I've been here for months and have gotten to talking with people in many situations. In all my time here I've seldom talked about myself. I've seldom been completly honest, even here. Yes. I've lied. I've used people with legitimate problems to make myself feel better without showing any of my real self. I'm ashamed, I regret. I apollogize. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know it's as inadequate as I am but it's all I can do. That and start telling the truth. I'm tired of hiding it and I hate myself for what I've done to the good, caring people who bothered to try to talk to me. I should probably start at the beginning. With the truth. With me. My name is Kevin. Do not call me Kevin, Kev is more than long enough in text. It's my name, and I've grown rather attached to it. Please use it. It's common enough that I don't have to worry about being found by the wrong people. I'm 21 years old, chronologically, new-born, socially, and indeterminate, philosophically. Meaning, I've been alive for 21 years, I don't know how to express even simple thoughts in words and have spent the better part of my life locked up in my head. I joined this site because... I no longer enjoy wanting to die. I used to. Only thing that kept me from trying too often was my fear of pain. I've wanted to die almost my entire life. Since before I knew how. Before I really understood what death meant. It's varied in intensity throughout my life. I still want it. Every day I think about it. Constantly wonderring how I'll react when I finally give in. What will I see as the pills make me lose my grip on reality? What will I think in those few seconds after I jump, before I hit the ground? How much longer can I hold on? How much do I want this? Why? Why not?... It never ends. I hate it and me and sometimes even the people who try to help. Nothing is so bad that a person deserves to be hated for it, but I do anyway. Because I don't want to hate them I keep the people I love and care about away. Never tell them how I feel inside. They know I'm less than well. It's fairly obvious. They know that I see a therapist and take medication. But they have no idea at all about how deep it goes. They don't know that I want to die. Or that I've made plans, schemes, ways to finally end. Or that I've tried... gone through with the plans... 3 times. I don't like asking for help. I know what it makes me do. I know that I can't trust me, nor can any of you. I can't be trusted to be honest or nice or fair or even appreciative. But I'm running out of options and time. I can't hold on to myself much longer. Not alone. I need help. I'm sorry to be a burden, as always. I hate myself for having to bother you. But I need you. I need me. I have to do something.....