i want to tell you something and i want to know how you've felt years after your attempts. the last time i tried was 8 years ago. it was right before my 16th birthday. i don't know if neone has felt this way but that day, i knew that despite my objections, i would do it and i would do it right. it hurt that much just to be alive. each second was this loong loong stretched out moment of unspeakable pain. throughout my depression, i hadn't thought it could've been worse, but that day proved me wrong. but i got lucky, i recovered and i haven't been so depressed since. this is the day, i discovered that God really existed. but, of course, 8 years later, i'm 23 i've learned so much from my experiences, my life is filling, and i'm damn sure proud that i got through the depression and the after effects in college all on my own. i mean it, i didn't have a single boyfriend, family figure, or truly saving friend to hold my hand. (i did have some friends who did know and cared as much as they could) despite the many nights i couldn't sleep, the moments when i wanted give up, i put myself through school, jobs, a proper university resume, many positive memories, and i kicked myself all the way to france to pursue a lifelong dream. even today was spent kicking myself after the dreams i want. i'm a cynic now, i know how scary apathy is but, i'm goddamn proud that i did it. i got through, every little piece of remedy for my depression was slef-medication, i went out and got it on my own. i'm here, alive, and learning to love myself. no one pushes me, no one has been there to hug me, but goddamn it, i'm here and i did it. HOWEVER, i think just about everyday since has come with some sort of thought about that day. some sort of new concept or imagination about how i would do it. many days in college, i'd feel the urge to break something, shoot something or throw myself into traffic. many a day passed when i lived in fear i would really cut myself. for me this is a particular fear because i know i wouldn't stop. perhaps it would've been better to cut myself regularly, i developed ulcers in colon and stomach at 21. i'm living now in paris, chasing my dreams, miles away from the people who had helped torture my life, years past my past, and my life is full of so many enjoyable moments and things, everyday i meditate on how to love myself, but days like today, i wonder how far i've really come. it's like back then, i had this picture in my head, i always felt that i was reaching out my hand into this unknown abyss and i'd keep reaching and there was nothing to hold and i was left with pain running up my hand and arm from trying so hard. My hand may not be there nemore, i took it back, but i'm still in need of something.... there was something i needed to say, something i needed to share, something i wanted someone to absorb. i feel it in the way i'm attracted to sad songs and tragic films about isolation and mental disorders. not only do i think about suicide every time i'm waiting for a metro train, or on a bridge, or so on, every time the old factors come back into my life, i feel the urge to cut my wrists, and i start planning which knife to use, where to do it, how to do it, and so on. and i know now, i don't have that same fear of suicide i struggled with when i was younger. now, i know, if i really truly feel the same as that day again, i wouldn't object one bit. it would just be natural to end it. as far as i've come, 8 years later, sometimes, like now i feel my hand reaching again. This part of me begs the question, "how far have i really come?"