Feeling: deeply suicidal Here is an email I sent to this guy I talk to... It's really long and annoying and I don't want to scare him off or bother him with my problems... So I'll make you all read it as well. Somehow, that seems like it will help. Without further ado: You got off before I could IM you begging you to stay on... I really needed someone to talk to today. So I called up my best friend, and we talked for about an hour before she suddenly went cold, telling me to "go the fuck away" ... Now it's 9:30, and I've given up on suicide because there are too many people to acknowledge in the note. And because the morphine's in my grandma's bedroom, and she'd be able to stop me. I swear to God, I just want to have a breakdown. In public, preferably at school... I want to go completely crazy, fetal position, rocking back and forth, crying my eyes out. Problem is, I hate the attention. So I repress it. So I keep myself alive for the sake of my only good friend and my innocent little cousin(s)... So I attach myself to people I've never met, hoping beyond hope that there are people, somewhere, who can understand. So I write bullshit poems, that are good, but aren't about me. I've never been through anything, never been raped, never been in love, never had a broken heart, never gave a shit about losing a loved one, never run away, never (or almost never) cut myself, never (almost) gotten drunk, never attempted suicide... So I realize, that the scary part is, I want to go through all of those things. So I wonder, is there something wrong with me? So I pray, wishing for a good way out. So I lose my faith, my prayers are never answered. So I end up here again, on the edge of sanity, the edge of life, of my humanity. So I end up cold, no emotion, no soul, no fear, no regret, at my worst point yet. So I end up seeking solace in someone I barely know, someone who may not care, who may not be there at all. So I liken you to God. So what? Somehow, we are all connected. Somehow, I know: any one of us can save another. So I wonder: can we save ourselves? Well, that was kind of poetic anyway. Here's the background story: My grandma, who was being very nice when I offered to cook dinner, came out of her room and immediately noticed every imperfect thing in the world. That's her way, if anything's not perfect, she yells about it. And nothing will ever be perfect. She yells about everything, and as my English teacher (coincidentally) said today: "If you yell about everything, you can't tell what's important." Which is true, it's hard to tell what matters anymore. Whether I come home with straight A's except one B, or straight F's, her reaction will be the same: a fit of hysteria about the fact that I'm not perfect. And I can't take it. After she started blowing up, you went away, just too quickly for me to talk to you (which wouldn't have mattered because she was in the kitchen the whole time, and so is the computer, so I wouldn't have been able to be on it). Once I got away from her, my best friend wouldn't talk to me. And then my mom wasn't home, probably because she was out drinking. She probably doesn't even realize she's the base of my whole support system. Sorry about the length of this, I just needed to blow off steam. Feel free to do the same. <3 Beth ... Yeah, that might help you sitdiarians to understand me better... I'm just another fucked up soul... But not as fucked up as you... ~ Beth