Those That Lived Are Sharing What Stopped Them From Ending It All

Modern Medicine. I have chronic Atopic Dermatitis(Eczema) and I fought the first 20 years of my life to find answers to my problem. Steroidal creams, moisturizers, diets, etc. I was sleeping 1-2 hours a night for months with the occasional 14 hour nap because my brain could not keep me awake any longer.

At all times throughout the day I was itching, everywhere. My whole body was one gigantic rash. You cannot just stop scratching. You do not even realize you are doing it until the pain of the wound is worse than the “pleasure” of scratching at it.

I never wanted to leave my college dorm because the heat of the sun made it worse. Even the cool air which relieved me slightly eventually led to more itching and scratching. I would flake everywhere from the condition of my skin.

I could not exercise because sweat would make the pain unbearable. Showers became the least relaxing experience in the world. It was pain to get in, pain when water or soap hit an irritated spot, and worse pain once I was dried off from the shower.

I went on a cruise with my family at my worst point mentally and physically. I remember vividly sitting on the floor of my room hugging my knees crying, wishing the pain and itch would stop. After crying, I pulled myself up and went to just walk around the ship to try and find a distraction.

I found myself at the front of the ship staring into the pitch black sky and ocean. I had my first and only ever suicidal thought. I could easily get over this rail, fall into the ocean, and let everything go. No one would know, no one is here to save me, it was an opportunity for what I thought would be better for everyone.

At the time I was in the application process for the new medicine, Dupixent. If you have not heard of it, watch cable tv for an hour and you will have seen 4 or 5 commercials for it. Dupixent is a biologic injection that blocks 2 types of proteins from “activating” and causing the inflammation. (That’s my understanding of it). My doctor said it would take 4 to 8 weeks to get approved and actually start the medication.

I convinced myself that I was close, so close and I had to give it one last try with this medication. I had a feeling that this was the one, hell I had never thought I would be injecting myself for this shitty genetic RNG I was given.

But it was grand enough to keep me above water to at least try. I told myself I would revisit these thoughts after being on the meds for a few months because it takes time for Dupixent to really start to work.

It took time, but it worked and is still working. I was on it for about a year and a half and had seen almost 90% clearness of my skin. Unfortunately, I lost my healthcare for about a year and had to stop taking it. Over 2 or 3 months I was back to that terrible lifestyle.

Thankfully, I got my life together again, got insurance, am back on dupixent, and it has been about 10 weeks of injecting every other week. I am back to sleeping 8 hours a night, exercising, losing weight, and really thriving.

If you made it this far, wow, I appreciate you reading my story and I hope this encourages some to never give up on their health.

Username: OminouSky

Was in a county jail in California one time, in complete methadone/heroin withdrawal waiting to be extradited to another state for serious charges. The charges eventually led to me serving 14 years in State Prison.

I knew I was facing an unthinkable stretch and had long ago decided, when the day came that my life of crime caught up to me, and I could no longer access my heroin, I was ending it. So I had LONG lived with the knowledge that it was just a matter of time. I was 26 and had been addicted to heroin a decade.

The day before the event, I had asked an Aryan Brotherhood skinhead who went by the moniker "New Jersey," what his tattooed numbers, "14 88" meant. "88" was Heil Hitler, 14 was 14 words of some horrid nazi phrase that goes "we must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children." This was the antithesis of the shit I believed in, of course, as a socialist and (closeted, in there) gay man, and I rolled my eyes at him.

This guy liked me, for some reason (I'll talk and be friendly to anyone), and he wagged his finger at me with a bit of a smile, warning me that he wasn't going to have me disrespecting his beliefs. There was another guy, however, a HUGE scary Hells Angel who didn't like me.

In fact, he was the only one there to suspect I was gay and even asked me if I was gay. I denied it. I had been bitching and whining for weeks by this point about the withdrawal, and had mentioned suicide several times. The Hells guy, I later found out, didn't like me because thought I was "weak."

Later in the day, as I was standing in my cell and count had just finished, New Jersey entered the cell, said something about me "disrespecting" him, and gave me about 5 or 10 furiously fast (but not very hard) blows about the face and head.

Later, he explained he'd been ordered to, for disrespecting the "Brotherhood," by rolling my eyes at the nazi phrase, by the Hells Angel, who was also the "Pod Boss". New Jersey wanted me to know there were no hard feelings.

By the next day, I'd had enough. I was so sick I just wanted to die, and the prospect of the decades ahead of me only made me all the more determined. I wanted to be sure it was effective, so I broke open the cheap blue shavers they gave us and removed the razor blade.

I held my breath in the mirror until my jugular vein popped out and quickly sliced it open. Immediately, blood pulsed out quickly with each heartbeat. I crawled to my top bunk and pulled the black wool cover over my head, my heavily medicated murderer cellmate snoozing away below me. I waited to die.

Just as things began to go woozy, I heard New Jersey, who had apparently been walking his circles around the pod (one of the few modes of exercise in there), and had seen the broken razor and bloodtrail, say "C'mon 'my name', what'd you do?"

He then walked in the cell and pulled the covers off my head. For a tough skinhead, he shrieked like a girl. I heard the whole story later, from both New Jersey, when I ran into him once in Medical, and then later a kid that ended up in the same extradition van as me and had been in the pod.

The kid said when they cleaned out the cell later, it "looked like a horror movie." More blood than any of then had seen in their lives. It must have been quite a sight. New Jersey sprang into action, running to hit the intercom and call the deputies, then grabbing a towel and holding it tightly to my neck-wound to staunch the bleeding.

"C'mon, man, I heard you talking about killing yourself, but it can't be THAT bad?" I was EXTREMELY lucky. That New Jersey was sharp enough to spot the things in the cell and check. That the deputies were so quick to make it in. That there just happened to be an ambulance parked at the jail that day.

I was later told another minute or two I'd have been a goner, I had lost such a dramatic amount of blood. And that a racist skinhead, literally the ANTITHESIS to EVERYTHING I believed in, had saved my life. I found out later that New Jersey had taken a lot of heat for saving my life.

The Hells Angel had tried, apparently, to spit on me from his cell door as they carried me out and the deputies were locking everybody back in their cells. " I TOLD you he was weak," he later told them. New Jersey's excuse for showing human decency while taking that heat for saving my life, he later told me, was that it was getting him a two-year reduction in his sentence for saving my life.

Whether that was true I don't know. However, such reductions for a life-saving act do exist in many states. I hope it helped him in some way as, regardless of his abominable beliefs, I'm sure glad he was there, and I'm equally glad I made friends with him, in a way.

The right lower quadrant of my face remains numb to this day, and I still bear a small scar in my neck.

Username: ilikecheese1976

Star Trek. I know that sounds ridiculous and I'm willing to admit that in some sense it is. I grew up extremely isolated, but I always loved Star Trek. There were times when the crew of the enterprise (OG, A, or D (or voyager for that matter)) really and truly felt like the closest thing I had to friends.

When I was 10 I went to my first Star Trek convention, I asked Leonard Nemoy some super technical question I can't remember and he invited me up on stage and gave me a great big bear hug. At that same convention I met Berry Jenner from DS9 and he gave me his personal email and we kept in touch for years.

I kept going to conventions and met so many more of the actors that played the people I had considered to be my friends and they were all so kind and genuine. John De Lancie, Robert Picardo, Ethan Phillips, and especially Jeri Ryan.

As I grew older and broadband became a thing my isolation continued but thanks to the online trek community, in particular Star Trek Online, I was able to make friends that are still in my life today and at this point I consider them to be family more than anything else.

Over the years though my mental health declined, leading up to COVID I had several close friends die to suicide, and then as COVID hit my physical health declined which ultimately lead to the end of my longest and really only long term relationship I had been in my entire adult life.

I was forced to move across the country to a place where I knew almost no one, I was completely alone except for a few family members I didn't feel I could lean on, and all my friends from the Trek community were an ocean away.

I would call and talk to them about how I was feeling but being physically isolated again became so overwhelming I prepared to take my own life. So much of my life had been spent without others I felt as if it was just my lot.

I was ready to follow through, there was no part of my brain that had even considered turning back and I had thought out and calculated plan. Right before I was able to though I remember being flooded with memories, many of them were painful because they were spent with people I had lost.

As melodramatic as it sounds though they quickly turned to memories of the conventions I had been to, my favorite episodes, and my favorite quotes, they genuinely felt like a light shining in the darkness.

Meeting my fleet-mates from STO for the first time.
The warmth of the hug from Leonard Nemoy.
Barry Jenner shaking my hand and saying "Welcome aboard Deep Space Nine."
Jean-Luc Picard saying "On the starship Enterprise no one is ever alone -- no one"

In that moment I remember finally believing again in what Star Trek had been about for me for so long. The final frontier isn't about the vastness of space, it's about the human experience, and we get to explore it. The unknown is only the temporarily hidden future of our lives.

I came to believe that the hope for the future that Star Trek is about isn't just an enigmatic one, centuries from now, it's about hope for the next hour, the next day, the next year, and allowing bettering myself to become the driving force in my life... because of that, I have become grateful, grateful I get to explore what comes next.

Username: GamerGuy726

I had been contemplating suicide from around age 9 to age 22ish. The short of it is that i realized i was gonna die anyway.

I grew up in a bad way, unsupported by my peers for the most part, belittled about my intelligence (found out last year i am apparently pretty damn smart when i had to take an IQ test for an adhd diagnosis), bullied by family and friends, and i was not encouraged to be myself. far from it. I was traumatized in a lot of ways unfortunately.

I tried it maybe 2 or 3 times. 1 or 2 or those times i was a child so i dont really remember it that well, and i stopped myself before i got hurt so no one would know and they never did. The most significant time i was 18 and had just started college.

College was one of the worst experiences of my life and i was there for 3 years in pure hell. Everyone before me had fought so hard to get there, and believed in its value. But i was not valued at college either, and i didnt know who i was.

It was carnage man. My parents still dont know i did that. I told my best friend, my partner at the time, and later told my cousin and my gramma a few years after.

I am now 23. I knew at an early enough age that, for me, death was an escape. I wanted to be asleep and not be in pain. Depression felt, with absolutely no exaggeration, like acid unceremoniously rolling around in my gut. Every time one area rehealed, the acid rolled back to it and worked to destroy my effort.

i actually developed a couple stomach ulcers. I didnt take it as seriously as i should have, but i didnt know i should. But i had my best friend. I had my dog. And i knew, even though he couldnt fix my childhood, my dad would be shattered. I couldnt do that to any of them, much less all three, or i think i would have if they werent around. Ive been in therapy since i was 14.

I just wanted peace. But i knew i wouldnt be able to kill myself the way things were. I really could never leave my best friend alone. We were each others family, i didnt want her to feel alone in crowds and i knew she did. I knew she would.

I am going to die anyway. What is the use worrying? Fussing all the time? How am i gonna do it? Who is gonna find me? What will i leave them in my will? What will my note say? Which way will be most painless? Who will grieve me the most?

What would i miss the most? Is it worth it? I dont believe in god, heaven sounds kinda fucked up to me honestly. I feel more comfort knowing there is nothing after death. Am i okay with missing out on the events of the world that happen after my death?

The answer is someone or something is gonna do it for me. I am ready enough for death when she does hit me. And I am tired of getting a busy tone when i call. People on their death beds hold more regrets over things they didnt do than things they did, so im just gonna wait until nature decides for me that ive done enough.

Until then im going to set my loved ones up for when im gone the best i can, and im going to live my life as true to who i am as possible. I still think about it sometimes. But it really isnt much more than a passing glance now. Realizing that i dont have to make it happen sooner than when it naturally will has lifted that off of me. I was even sexually assaulted last year.

I developed really severe ptsd, i have hallucinations n shit. Its fucking awful. It changed my life in terrible and horrifying ways, but i was surprised to find i still dont stare too long at suicide. Itll choose me sometime.

Username: salamipope

This is a bit long. But, I feel that context is important. I had reached a point, where I accepted my life was a failure. That it would be impossible to achieve my childhood dream. And that, rather than dwell in failure, that it would be wiser to accept it and move-on/start-over.

So, I spent months debating with myself on the matter. The impact it would have on my family; namely my baby brother; whose existence had unwittingly convinced me to delay the acknowledgment for many years (ie. try to achieve the goal indirectly instead). And, of course, the afterlife.

In my mind, it did not matter how many times/lives I failed, one success was all that was needed. If I ended up in hell, I would claw my way out of the pit. If a ghost, I would seek out, possess, and/or influence another towards realizing the dream.

If somehow in heaven, I would reject it and fall. And, so forth and so on. Yet, being raised as a Buddhist, reincarnation had a greater focus in these delusions.

And, regardless of when or where, even across the entirety of the multiverse, whether I remembered anything or not, I believed that my dream was so firmly entrenched into my being that one way or another I would always strive towards it.

That said, I also considered the possibility of nothingness upon death. How does one see without eyes, hear without ears, and so forth. Even then, I believed, despite the nothingness, that my "will" would somehow persevere and find a way.

Anywho, after the resolution was made. I planned to have a last meal, go to a holiday inn express (amusement and misremembering of their commerical), take some laxatives; then, after the bowels were emptied, put myself in a tent and stab myself in the heart (dramatic to the extreme).

To the morbidly curious, I never went camping before. So, setting up the tent was a mess and a flop. I opted for a knife, partly because, if I was going to end my life, then it had to be as direct as possible. B

ut, also, because I did not trust myself to be able to purchase and use a gun. After all, nothing exemplifies "trustworthy customer" more than a nervous; possibly unhinged; minority citizen looking for a gun...

Aside from that, I also underestimated how easy it would be to find a cozy holiday inn express and settled for something else instead.

That said, sloppy preparations aside, knife against my chest, my brain was going into overdrive to somehow convince me not to go through with it.

In regards to my family, I reasoned one way or another, I would apologize to them (especially my baby brother) in the next life or lives. But, after succeeding in my dream, of course.

Yet, before I took the proverbial/literal plunge, a single thought broke through the dense surface:
"What if the soul does not exist."

And, that floored me. Long story short, the next decade, with its ups and downs, had me confronting that thought repeatedly. Unfortunately, the Asian family, deeply religious, mindset often led to dancing around the issue. But, it is what it is.

Eventually, I took to keeping a thought diary, which greatly helped to come to terms with myself and reality. And, ultimately, I opted to do what I can to be helpful/useful where I can and push myself to be better in ways that feel meaningful/productive/realistic to me.

Now, I cannot claim to be fully happy/content. But, I no longer see seething anger/bitterness/denial when looking at myself in the mirror. And, thinking on the past, I definitely feel the difference as far as sanity and expectation is concerned. Nothing spectacular or grand. But, it is my story nonetheless.

Username: GanjinChan

Let me explain. I've struggled with major depression as far as I can remember. My first attempt was when I was 11. My latest was 18. I've lost count of how many times and how many ways I've tried.

Most of the time I just got too tired to finally do anything, so I would just go days without eating in hopes that starvation takes me out. It's not like anybody noticed. My mom, my brother, my teachers - none of them knew I was doing any of this. I was genuinely invisible.

My favorite thing to eat is fries. I love all kinds of them. Whenever my mom would take me shopping, I'd ask if we could get fries. Taco Bell has a (now no longer limited) limited edition fry called Nacho Fries. Pretty good. I'd get them maybe twice a year. We were poor.

My mom passed away when I was 17. Originally, what kept me mostly going was the fact I was failing on actually doing it. Then it was that I wanted my mom to see me graduate. She never got to - I attended my high school graduation alone.

Didn't even get my diploma. The school forgot. I spent 2 hours holding open our library door because thing hits like a truck and, even in my grief, I didn't want any of my classmates to have a bad graduation. Once in a lifetime event, y'know?

After that, there was nothing though. I'm poor, I've lost the only one who ever did acknowledge me (even if it was sparingly), and I have nothing else to do. I had planned that I'd finally do it the quick and easy way after my graduation - that was the plan ever since elementary.

But... despite the fact I had 13 guns at my disposal (was staying at a family member's house. Didn't have a dad; I was orphaned and the court had to force these members to take me in, less I end up on the streets), I couldn't bring myself to do it because it would've been on carpet and I know how hard it is to clean up blood from carpet. Not that anybody would care that I was dead. I was more worried about the floor.

I got into college. Paid for. There's a Taco Bell near my campus. I told myself that I'd eat some fries before I go. So, I got a job on campus. Went to classes so I could keep my job. Saved money so I could buy some fries. And I would. I just did, in fact, though they got my order wrong (wanted two things of fries, they just gave me one. It's fine though).

But because I went to college, I made some friends. Just 2, but they're nice. Started going to therapy for the 7th time (I'm not kidding). The previous 6 didn't believe the doctor when he showed them documents detailing my problems, so I was always just told I was faking my depression for attention (Even if I was.. isn't it a problem that a 11 year old is starving themselves for attention?).

Anyway. She finally gave me some medicine and I've been feeling fine. I've had some moments - the grief from my mom I don't think will ever leave me and my past never seems to leave me alone. But I'm doing fine. All because I wanted some fries.

Username: angeyberry

Me finding out that I was going to be a father. After I graduated from college in 2014, I decided to go for my Masters. I attended Michigan State and I liked live in East Lansing that I figured that 3 more years wouldn't hurt. About a year left, things took a turn, took years to recover.

The pressure of getting my masters was causing me to develop an anxiety disorder. Without thinking, I dropped out, grabbed all my stuff from my apartment and head back home to California. That year and a half is where I ended up in my suicide attempt.

At the request of my family, I was told to go to a psychiatrist and was prescribed medication which is where I started my addiction to "mental pills" as I called them. I managed to swipe a few prescription papers from my therapist and fed my addiction. It got so bad that I was fired from my secretary job at a investment firm.

I went back to my Anxiety, that I was making impulse choices. I gained weight due to ordering Uber Eats and Postmates, not to mention the weight while attending college; I went from 158 pounds when I started MSU to 214 pounds up until my attempt. I also started a relationship with my then girlfriend, an addict herself.

After a year, my relationship ended when my gf decided to go to rehab, Fired from another job, kicked out of my apartment, had to move back with my parents, kicked out after a month, lived with a few friends, got kicked out again and finally my car gets stolen and crashed. With no place to go and my life going down the drain, my life going down a downward spiral.

I ended up walking to where the pier was, I "lived" on the Beach for about a week. At the end of the week, I was going to the pier to jump, with rocks that I stuffed my pockets with. After reaching the end of the pier, I was about to climb the rail, until my gf arrived.

We went back in forth for about 20 minutes until she revealed that she was pregnant with our child, she found out during her stint in rehab. The words "if you won't live for you, then live for your child" are what convinced me to abandoned my suicide attempt.

I moved in with my gf, who helped me with my mental health. We ended up getting married and having our daughter Luna. I moved back to Michigan where I finished my Masters. I decided to become a Kindergarten teacher after watching Kindergarten Cop (I know, I thought it was weird too) and It was the best decision I ever made.

After a year teaching, I moved to Colorado, where I currently live. I still continue to teach Kindergarten and my wife and I are expecting twins around September or October. For those considering suicide, think about who you're leaving behind.

You may feel they're being tough on you, but they're looking out for you. If they didn't care, would they be still be there for you? Not many people get a second chance, I took mine and helped myself out for the better.

Username: Only_1_Noodle

MDMA. Not even gonna sugar coat it. I've been an advocate for MDMA for medical purposes ever since. Backstory: shitty relationship when I was 16 gave me Adult Separation Anxiety Disorder, Bi-polar 1 and manic depression with suicidal thoughts.

Anybody that's ever dated someone with ASAD can tell you it's a relationship ruiner second only to complete co-dependency. Acted on thoughts in mild to moderate ways after failed relationship after failed relationship.

Did therapy, smoked, drank, exercised, but ultimately it always came down to me being a shitty anxiety filled pick when I was left alone and cataclysmicly destroyed every relationship via phone call/text message and the avalanche of uncontrollable thoughts that came with ASAD.

Fast forward to being 24, another failed relationship, my fault for being the clingy me of the time. I thought about killing myself again, but instead went to a strip club. Stripper told me about a rave that weekend. Went to the rave with my best friend because he knew how deep I was into my depression.

At the rave (my first), someone came up and said "you wanna buy some E?!" I thought "what the hell, let's do it" So I bought three, two for me and one for my bro, cuz it was all the cash I had on me, in my bank account, on credit, I was broke because I didn't give a shit about life at this point.

And despite having never done drugs at this point, I didn't give a shit what the pills were, what was in it, or what I'd experience. I just wanted to feel anything but how I felt. And lemme tell ya... it made me feel everything I thought I'd never experience again, but better.

For the three weeks until the next rave I wanted to go to, I had zero thoughts of suicide. Hell, I don't even think I had depression, much less manic depression, and anxiety was almost non-existent. The world had color again.

LOADS of color. People seemed nicer, more caring, less cold and callous. My apartment seemed better than I remembered. My bed more luxurious. Three weeks of this after 1 (some would consider it 2) dose of MDMA.

I did MDMA for the next 4 months and then moved away where I couldn't get it anymore. The world has been just unbelievably lovely since then. I even got over my ASAD when I dated a girl that was wholly accommodating. She put the trust back in my relationship life (Lindsay if you ever read this, I love you so much for that, you're the best and an amazing friend still <3)

I microdose every now and then. No change in mood, and it's never "like the first time" (which was mind-blowing). But as ironic as it sounds, it's nice to remember what I owe my life to. MDMA saved my life and I'll be damned if I let anyone ever say it has no use as a medicine.

Username: radraze2kx

I woke up during the middle of dying. I’ve read a few times that bridge jumpers often have a moment of regret as soon as they let go or about to hit whatever surface. It was very much like that.

I went to bed very, very content on never waking up, and I woke up - very confused - dragged myself to the bathroom, pulled my body up to the mirror and looked in it. That’s the moment it hit me. Literally “what the fuck did you fucking do this time”. I actually tried to call for help but my face was basically paralyzed and I couldn’t move very well. My friends thought I was a prank call. I didn’t even think of 911 as far as I can remember.

The only thing I had the strength and coordination ( both just barely) to do was to line my mouth up under the bathtub faucet, then down as much water I could and then throw it all back up again, rinse, repeat. I eventually passed out again.

The rest of the evening very confusing when Gained consciousness again.. So very dark and confusing with full on hallucinations. I went around in my underwear - in public - talking to ghosts that I thought were from the very old plots of graves next to our apartment.

Literally running around in my boxes in winter, I don’t remember being cold. I do remember being looked out until a neighbor came. She was very concerned but I wouldn’t let her near me. I was to embarrassed.

The remaining portion of the bright included me seeing what I perceived at the moment to be entities not alive. I was really fucked up. Everything about their character decision would be no where on my radar. My building was a previous brothel in the 40’s and it had a pretty twisted history allegedly.

So whatever I seen / even just figments of imaginations buried under the do not care like we’re very real. They didn’t speak. They just watched. One man in a top hat watched me sleep for hours. It so so scary.

It took me a while to come back afterward. I was out for a couple days pull, but after waking up I had no idea what was what. I had no idea why I could barely lift my laptop, who I talked to. Any of it. Memories came back other time.

For anyone reading this and is going through a hard time: I’ll share with you how it ended. Just months later I started to get a lot recognition in local, then regional, and some national press for a company that I had not even though us before trying to leave the world.

This at a time period where brands were becoming more and more aware of the power of “influencers” we just called them spokesperson those days. For a while my personally became what I was becoming known for and was asked to do things like guest lecture at a university, even without degree, also sit on design critiques for students, also without s degree, speak the major on camera.

And did a years of regional press. On top of that I ran a business. < straight into the ground > so it wasn’t all fun and games. I was highly volatile and unstable.

I have a few good years - the most years of my life when I truly believed I could anything and be anyone. Then my brother died. And I lost everything k thought I cared about in the process of finding everything I do care about sitting right beside it.

Had I of died , I wouldn’t have accomplished things that I will literally be remembered for, made really amazing, deep friendships, found the love of my life 9 years in Jan!!) and gotten to just s couple years left with my brother. Life is hard. It gives. It takes. If surprises you. Be kind to yourself and know that you are loved.

Username: redactedname87

Doctor Who. Specifically the 50th anniversary special. I was in the military, and I had just returned from deployment. My fiance had left me for a stripper before I got back. He married that stripper. And because he had been stateside the whole time, he kept most of our friends.

I was anxious, I was depressed, I was lonely. I came home to nothing. My old friends were gone. My new friends were home with their families. And I was dealing with that post-deployment "adjustment period" where I trying to do normal things like grocery shopping, but my body was used to being in war, so every task felt surreal and wrong. It felt like my life was falling apart. I wanted to die.

Rationally, I knew it would pass. I just needed something to hang on to. I remembered a postcard I saw on the PostSecret website that said,* "I'm still fighting it. But one reason I decided against suicide is that there are no donuts in death."* I needed a Donut. I needed a reason to live. Living for my parents, my siblings, or my Niblings wasn't enough.

But I had nothing... Except for the parts of me that were there before the deployment, before the failed engagement. And BBC/whatever-American-channel-carried-Doctor-Who was pushing heavy ads for the 50th Anniversary episode. There would be multiple Doctors! It was going to be amazing! I loved this show, this silly show about an alien with two hearts, a show about hope and fixing things.

I decided I did not want to die until I had seen the 50th anniversary episode. It was going to be televised globally, simultaneously. We would meet the Next Doctor. I had to be there, right?

So I fought myself for weeks through the darkest period of my life. There were ugly days, many ugly days. Lots of ugly days all in a row, but I couldn't die yet. I thought about how I'd do it, until one day I didn't. Then I found reasons to laugh and get outside.

It wasn't magic, but at least I was pretending to be a functioning human. I just kept going like that, each month barely better than the last. I made new friends. I told them about this cool show, Doctor Who. I didn't tell them about the depression.

I put together a watch party for the 50th. I sat there, with people I genuinely cared about, people who sat with me while I fought myself for months, and as the episode started, I started quietly crying. I didn't *want* to die anymore. I did it. I lived through it.

Doctor Who saved my life by giving me something to live for. For anyone reading this far, find a donut. Find a silly, beautiful, joyful thing to keep living for. Just hang on to that until you don't need to hang on to anything anymore. Don't quit yet.

Username: NovelDame

Is "I don't know" a valid answer? Because truthfully I don't know what stopped me... A friend I had in school killed himself a week before. My mental state at the time was already fragile with rapid mood swings from being joking around one minute to about ready to end it the next.

Due to that my friends whom I love like family cut ties with me leaving me with almost no one I felt comfortable going to and talking with. (had a therapist threaten to put me in a hospital years ago if i didn't talk about a certain topic)

I remember watching Star Trek Picard that night at my desk quietly crying so no one else could hear me. It was the last episode in the first season where he dies and sees Commander Data. I went to bed that night and just about did it. I was looking down at my dads .22 for what i think was hours... I don't really know what stopped me but something just clicked... I don't really know what it was...

After that night I sorta just felt alone and wandered in my own thoughts for a few weeks. I ended up deciding to focus on what i had left of high school and go from there. End goal being just to graduate.
I eventually started focusing harder and harder on achieving and taking pride in every little thing i did well I built self confidence
.
I graduated with Certifications in IT. After I graduated I spent a few months searching for a job which was the next goal.

After I got my current job my goal was a car. I got my KIA Rio in 2021.Shortly after I got my car I felt confident in sort of righting some wrongs I said and did in the past. I reached out to one of my other friends who was a mutual to the ones who left.

I apologized about how I was, expressed how I am nowhere near the same person as i used to be.
What shocked me is they said they were gonna reach out to the friends that left what was years prior. Say that they needed to talk with me.

I did the same to them. Told them how I am better, how I'm not the same, how I wanted to apologize for my past actions. They accepted and we are now all better friends than we were before. My past and how I used to be, being long behind me and everyone now.
That was back in late 2021.

We all ended up hanging out together for the first time in November 2022 and it was an experience I wouldn't trade for the world even if my stress levels were through the roof as I never even had a sleep over before led alone with it being with people who I never hung out with IRL before in a town far away...

And now tomorrow I am closing on a house... I don't really know how the fuck I'm still here. "I don't know" is the best answer I have

Username: Subnauticabosss

A beautiful act of kindness from a close friend. Long story short, in 2019 I was broke, starving, broken hearted, unemployed and on the verge of homelessness. This idea took over inside my brain, that because I was such a worthless piece of shit and deserved the worst, I should up the ante and drive out into the woods with my gun and put an end to everything.

It's really scary in hindsight how *excited* I felt when I was planning this, I was motivated and enthusiastic and it was comforting but I still had some steps to go thru first. Because I was eating something like 400 calories a day, the hunger I experienced was excruciating.

None of my clothes fit anymore, I was a skeleton and my stomach growled constantly. I would spend entire afternoons walking around picking up every coin I found on the ground so that after a few days of hunting I could buy bread via the self checkout register to avoid the shame of paying with change.

When I slept, I would have comically absurd dreams where I was able to luck into eating whatever I wanted, and whenever I would take the first bite it felt real, and I'd wake up. I had one ridiculous dream where I saved Bill Gates from a car crash and he rewarded me with a bag of Wendy's, for example.

I told a friend of mine this because in my self hating and suicidal state of mind I found it utterly **hilarious**. She didn't find it funny at all and I could sense her vibe change entirely. I knew that she was aware things weren't good for me already, but I don't think it really dawned on her how bad things were. She kind of changed the subject for awhile, then abruptly asked me what my address was.

Trusting her and feeling like I had nothing to lose living on borrowed time, I told her. She asked me to verify it was exactly that way. When I did, she told me that she had used her Amazon account to send me some food. She told me that I owed her nothing, and that it would be there the very next morning.

When it arrived, I was so pleasantly surprised by how heavy it felt. When I took it into my room and opened it, and saw all the non-perishable food that I knew would see me thru at least a few weeks, it felt as though someone had wrapped me in a warm blanket and I was finally safe for the first time in forever.

I thought about my plan to end my own life and I just felt so **ashamed** that I would consider such a thing when someone could care for me so much. I began to weep and internally I promised myself to not give up and to continue forward with life in spite of how shitty it felt at the time.

Username: DrooMighty

Television drama, but not in the ‘usual’ way. At around October/November 2016 I went through a really rough patch. I couldn’t adjust myself to the secondary school curriculum (Especially maths). It was also around the same time I read a story book about a world without numbers (Which was what I wanted), and that scared the shit out of me.

Moreover, I had just returned from an overseas trip which made me feel like the place I live in is a shithole. One night I was laying in my bed when a song (The Way by Zack Hemsey) started looping in my mind. It got so dramatic and I went into deep contemplation. I felt like I was fighting the world and I’m losing the battle. I decided everything was too overwhelming, and I wanted a way out.

That night I wrote a note addressed to my mum, saying something like ‘Just go, your son has gone before you’, and left a Swiss knife at the bottom of the paper. My original plan was to jump off the balcony (I lived on the 28th floor) after writing the note.

But I suddenly thought of how the same situation would evolve if it were to be in a TV drama, as it was quite popular within my family. Upon reading my suicide note and realising her only son is dead while she is sleeping, my mum would feel so sad and overwhelmed, she would use the Swiss knife to end her life too.

My mum was a single parent, and although she did have her issues (She was diagnosed with depression), she did one hell of a job shaping me into the person I am today. She worked long hours in a stressful environment, came home, and devoted the little free time she had into caring for me.

She was the best mum in the entire world (Still is today), and I wouldn’t want to see anything happening to her. I didn’t want her to bear the burden of losing her only child. She wouldn’t exist as the person I know had I leaped over. The thought of my mum ending her own life too haunted me.

So I put the note and the Swiss knife away. Sometime later I told everything to my mum and fortunately she took it very seriously. She found a psychologist and arranged a few sessions. 6 years later I’m still alive and well, pursuing my lifelong dream in a country I want to live in.

My mum met her current SO a few years after that night and they have been happily together ever since. I still feel sad over some regrets in high school, but not to the point where I want to take my own life.

There’s just so much left to do, and it’s not worth it. So yeah. Stupid TV dramas actually saved my life. It made me appreciate the things I have. Also love you mum

Username: Lufthansa1198

Which time? Honestly. There’s been several. First time? I wasn’t actually *trying* to in a sense but I was strung out on opiates hoping in the back of my twisted addict mind I’d eventually OD and someone would find me. This was after my Mom passed.

She was my best friend and saved my life herself (I was dx’d at age 5 as a type 1 diabetic). I felt I had no need to continue living after she passed from cancer. I had so much pain because I was a medical professional who felt that bc of my education and knowledge, I should’ve been able to save my Mom.

In reality, the cancer was so aggressive it was basically a death sentence from the beginning unfortunately. However I was “caught” by thieving narcotics from the facility I worked at. I’ve never stole anything and addiction drove me to it. Thankfully because if I hadn’t gotten caught, I wouldn’t be posting this now.

Wound up receiving 4 felonies, pre-trial diversion, 5 year probation and jail time too. With the depression I’d already had prior to losing Mom, now I had all kinds of guilt weighing on me by disappointing my family for what I’d done. Did therapy, counseling, meds. I soldiered know.

Got pregnant in May/June 2014. I was alright mentally until after having my beautiful daughter. Post partum depression set in hard after she was 8 weeks old. Didn’t have any support from the “father”, my family wasn’t really that great at that time.

I started cutting again, to release the anxiety. Somewhere in my jacked up mind I felt like it helped but finally I snapped. I started writing a letter to my brand new daughter, apologizing for not being good enough to be her mom.

I apologized to my family for being an all around POS and never being good enough for their standards. A great friend of mine happened to message me in my madness. I broke down and told them everything. Immediately they came and escorted me to the mental health clinic I went to for therapy.

The social worker/therapist who was with me placed me into a crisis center that day. However that came with additional consequences. My sister had to drive 2 hours to get my daughter while I was gone. She really hurt my feelings bc she made me feel like it was all my fault and I was putting on a front.

I’ll never forget that. Forgiven, yes. Forgotten? Never. I was discharged a week later in a much better way than before. I owe it to my friends and my daughter (who has had to save my life literally bc of hypoglycemic episodes.)

Sorry for the novel. It’s been a hell of a ride but I’m thankful I can live to see another day and most of all, be with my amazing and beautiful daughter. She is my universe. Sending thoughts and prayers to those out there suffering. Keep up the good fight. I can promise you, it’s so worth it. ❤️

Username: Correct-Training3764

It is so incredibly cathartic to tell this story, so even though it might not get seen, I'm gonna write it all out... The day after my 28th birthday, I decided to run away and kill myself. I was dating an incredibly mentally ill man who used manipulative language like a whip.

I was constantly terrified of my own shadow and so incredibly exhausted from carrying the blame for everything. I have a long history of depression and anxiety from an early age and loads of trauma.

Anyways, he managed to make me feel so worthless and I just believed him. I just wanted the pain to stop. So I got up mad early and slipped out the back door. Texted everyone I cared for at the time that I loved them and left my phone behind.

Wrote out a note and grabbed a stuffie and some shoes. Ran out barefoot into the street and didn't know where to go. Threw the shoes on and raced through back alleys of Chicago. Found my way to Whole Foods. Somehow I got to the roof of that building and went to the edge. Stood for awhile and looked down. Couldn't stop shaking knowing how much it would hurt.

Just as I was about to go for it, I noticed a couple of employees looking at me, so I sat down. I kept trying to push myself off that damn roof, but this song kept running on repeat. It was Come Down by Sylvan Esso.

And all I could think about was the lyric about the mama coming down to wash her hair and I thought about my mom. All of a sudden, there was a security guard behind me that reached out his hand and said I couldn't be there.

His eyes were just this wild looking thing and I saw my own fear reflected in them. It was lyrical. He told me that he knew someone who could help and somehow convinced me to go downstairs. He sat me in front of this man that for some reason was a shoeshiner?

He told me that I had a bigger purpose than I could ever know and that it wasn't my time. He gave me his number and told me to call whenever I needed. Had me call my boyfriend.

Had no idea that I memorized his number, but he came and got me. It took weeks, months, years to dig out of that, but I eventually left him for good and got some serious therapy. I'm glad to say I'm in a very good place now.

I did try calling that guy a couple days later, though, and when I did, all I got was static on the line and a strange voice singing. I'm still not sure if he was an angel or a guide or just in the right place at the right time. But I sent my gratitude out to him and will until the end.

Username: YucatanPrincess

My dog, Ella. I was 15 and going through serious depression after I had been raped. I didn't tell anyone and the brutality of it was worse because I was a Virgin. I still remember the pain to this day.

Anyway, I had decided to kill myself. I had made up my mind to do it after the holidays to not ruin any future events for my dad. I was living with him at the time. However, my sister had given me a puppy for Christmas. I named her Cinderella or Ella for short.

Ella was only a few weeks old and needed alot of attending to. When I thought about killing myself I then thought "well, whose going to take care of Ella if I'm gone? My dad doesn't have time he works all day. My brother is barely home and my sister doesnt like dogs that arent trained.... let me wait until she's (my dog) older and potty trained. Maybe my sister will take her in then."

So, weeks would pass by and again I'd plan my suicide but I would sincerely get sadder of the thought that my dog would be given away or worse put down. Idk why I cared more about my dog than what my family's reaction would be if I died.

Eventually, my suicidal thoughts start to decrease. However, there was a night when I start talking to Ella about my problems. I bawl like a baby and decide at the moment "tonight is the night." As I start thinking for the fastest option to do it before I chicken out again Ella starts licking my tears away.

It surprises me cause she knows I don't like my face being licked. She then places her head on my legs and sighs while looking at me with the saddest puppy eyes you can imagine. Instantly, I change my mind. That was the last night I ever thought about ending my life.

My Ella lived until she was about 10 years old. I truly believe that her purpose was to give me hope and to make sure I didn't do something that would've traumatized my family especially my dad. Her passing was very sad for me and I cry to this day.

Although my husband (bf at the time) didn't like pets he let me keep Ella bc he knew how much she meant to me. He didn't understand until she died and I told him exactly what I just wrote. It suddenly clicked I'm his head.

Even now (5 years later) when I cry thinking about Ella my husband doesn't look at me stupid. He always says "As much as I hate pets I admit..... Ella was a damn good dog." Indeed she was a good dog. An irreplaceable one too. I miss you Ella. RIP.

Username: ThrowawayJojosCircus

About eleven years ago? Me being overweight; turns out the belt snapped instead of my neck. For a while it was my two closest friends among my grad school cohort; they kept me afloat because I have severe anxiety and if I plan something out and it doesn’t go right I tend to fall apart mentally and do some extremely irrational things (a LOT of self-harm over the years).

When the pandemic hit and it was announced that we’d never be returning to our campus again I told my parents I’d go outside to calm down because of how upset I was; the truth was, though, that I was going somewhere to take my own life.

The area I live in has an area overlooking the Manhattan Skyline and there’s a 100 foot drop off a cliff onto some train tracks below, and I was hell-bent on doing it. I basically gave my two best friends among my grad school cohort a text message saying goodbye, and the second person I texted immediately called me and talked me out of it and convinced me to go home.

The first one thought I was just being dramatic and basically cut ties with me over it (it wasn’t her fault; she didn’t realize how severe it was since I was already home safe when she responded). No longer having one close friend because of it sucks beyond belief (this person was extremely special to me), but at least I’m alive right now because of another one. Thanks, Kevin; you don’t have to be a round inflatable rubber donut to be a lifesaver.

Nowadays it’s just my cat and keeping my this terrible brain of mine distracted with video games. I live with my parents, so they’d still be able to take care of her if I wasn’t around, but that little gray furball always watches me and I like being around cats anyway.

I feed the strays in my apartment building’s garage and all the neighbors know me as that weird, quiet guy who talks to and feeds the cats down there. A few folks there strike up a conversation with me every so often and I like chatting with the people who are also nice to the cats since they realize I’m just some weird, nerdy guy who loves animals and used to want to be a history teacher.

Those cats are nice; most of them are pretty scared of humans and two of them won’t come near me at all, but three of them like their cuddles and head rubs before I give them their food. The cats do a good job distracting me.

Username: DreadfuryDK

My husband literally taking the method away from me. Multiple times. What stopped my attempts altogether, was the promise I made to my husband that I would always tell him when I'm having bad thoughts when they start.

No matter how I feel about myself, I always know that he doesn't deserve to lose his wife so young. I love him with all my heart, he is always gentle with me and he listens to my crazy life stories without judgement.

He lost his mother when he was nineteen, and to make him lose another person would be cruel. What took away the majority of the issues causing the suicidal thoughts in the first place is finding the right combination medications, receiving treatment for long neglected(because they were unknown) health problems and years of therapy.

The first 2 therapists gave me some pretty shitty advice. I finally got a licensed therapist who was trained in the EMDR technique. If you're wondering about my health problems, I was diagnosed with chiari 1 malformation, syringomyelia, and degenerative disc disease in 2016.

I had to undergo brain and neck surgery to prevent my imminent death. It took a few more years to discover that I was allergic to gluten, along with many other allergies (cats, dustmites, trees, grass, mold, bunnies, horses, etc.). Having so many "rare" health conditions has meant that 98% of my health care providers assume I'm a lying drug addict.

Living with disability has been a constant struggle of "proving" to my doctors that my concerns are real. Life is exhausting in itself, but having to prove I need help is dehumanizing. I don't like to admit I need help in the first place, but I'm unable to work, and my quality of life is kinda shit because I can't make myself go through the torture of proving to the government that I am disabled in order to get disability or student loan forgiveness.

The only reason I have survived this long is my husband put his own health on the line to provide us with enough income and healthcare benefits to slowly get treatment for my health problems, including mental health problems.

I still struggle, but overall I'm doing much better than I was 7 or even 2 years ago. I am not employed, and I was never able to finish my degree in the first place, so we have had to continue paying my student loans(minus the COVID pause). Your future matters too.

Username: UpstairsStill8803

Got into philosophy and gave all of my attention to nietzsche, schopenhauer, and Kafka, read people like Edgar Allen Poe and hp lovecraft, I was generally unhappy and depressed. I then found out about Diogenes, unironically, taught me things weren’t as serious as we think, everything is a joke.

Which I found hilarious. I then thought about my suicidal thoughts and depression and tried to figure out, why I was sad? Like, I just thought of my happiness for the first time, I know it sounds childish, but it really helped.

I eventually read parts of the bible and the teachings of Buddha, which gave me a good aspect. I’m not religious, but I do believe in a sort of afterlife, but I don’t know what, but I can’t wait to see the next adventure. This helped a lot, but I still found no reason to live on, till I found Albert Camus.

I learned of absurdism, that life in itself was absurd, but that’s why we should live it, because the absurdity is random, and the randomness is damn always different. So I decided to live. Try new things and try to find friends and maybe a lover, it’s a new challenge for which I will always try to conquer, even if it kills me.

I choose my happiness, if things get redundant, I change for the better. In a way, I learnt a lot and I choose to not kill myself, not because of religion or anything, but that the absurdity will one day lead to better things, and when I die, it’ll be worth it. I still have a small belief in an existential void, when we die, just dark. But I still won’t kill myself, because that shit sounds boring lol.

But that’s what I have to say on that, i know it was long, and maybe drawn out, but it’s really important to me that others can keep their happiness, by maybe, reading these words.

I know, it’s cringy, but for others, you’re beautiful, ecstatic, and full of heart. You’re not alone, the world is your oyster, and I know you’ll blow minds with what you do. Helping yourself should always be first, but don’t be an asshole to others in the process lol, you’re better than that.

I believe helping yourself and others, is the most selfless thing, you can do. You are important and loved, life is surprising, and dumb, but it makes it all worth it in the end. Nuff said

Username: kevinplaysss

It gave me hope that I could be loved even if I was broken. Then my first bf pretty much confirmed that and I promised him that I would never go through with it. I grew up with a narcissistic mother and emotionally absent father. I felt miserable every day of my life.

I wanted it all to end, life was not worth it, I felt trapped and broken. But my parents were also VERY controlling (I couldn’t go out on my own or with classmates, I didn’t have money) and I was done with pain. I wanted to go in a quick way, ideally painless.

I knew my parents were interested in my education, so I made the plans to be able to go to a top university in another city. I would get away from their control and get a gun.

When I had my first pc and access to internet, I found out manga during my teenage years. I was blown away by the romantic ones. It was something I had never seen in real life, it was the fresh air I needed when it felt like living in hell. I helped me develop hope for love.

Then, at 16 yo, I met my first love. We had a long distance relationship, he was kind, funny, respectful, very loving and accepting. He was the first person to know me, I wouldn’t dare be myself with anyone else because I was terrified of the constant rejection I got from my parents and classmates.

With him, I felt truly loved and hopeful of the future. Even if all my day to day activities kept the same as before, I felt blessed by his existence and being able to daydream of a happy future.

I eventually told him that before meeting him, I had this plan of killing myself once I had some freedom. He was very concerned and made me promise him to never do that. I felt so loved and in love with him, that I decided to print that sensation in my memory, even if it didn’t work out in the end, and use it if I ever felt like doing it again.

We eventually broke up amicably. And with the years, I no longer feel romantic towards him and we barely talk once every 2 years. But I do love him deeply and remember clearly that sensation of love.

Username: _-Mich-_

I had just turned 16. I had a best friend that I was in love with. Prior to turning 16, he told me that he had a crush on me, but I had to turn him down - my parents had said that I wasn't allowed to date until I was 16. He said he would wait.

He dated a few other girls but he said none of them meant anything, just bridging the gap until I was available. He made me feel so wonderful. No one else had ever looked at me like he did. So on my birthday, I went to school and hung with him between every class.

Waiting for him to ask me out... but he seemed uncomfortable. At the end of the day, we were waiting for our buses, and he introduced me to his new girlfriend. She was so mean to me. He said nothing to stop her jokes, even laughed along.

For the next few months, he strung me along - break up with her, say that he still wants me but needs time, and then they would be together again the next day. It was horrible.

Eventually I convinced myself that if my own best friend can't love me, no one can. The depression ate at me for a while. One night, I stood in front of my mirror with one of my sister's knives to my wrist. I didn't want to live. I was so tired.

Then something just... clicked. His actions aren't my fault. Why do I feel the need to punish myself just because he can't get his shit together? I decided to make him regret treating me that way. That's how I would get my revenge - make him feel as shitty about himself as he made me feel.

Over the course of the next month, I chewed him out for always leaving me on the hook, and cut him out entirely. I focused on myself. Accidentally stumbled into a relationship with a guy from a different school.

The whole time, my ex-bestie grovelled and watched from a distance, as his own on-and-off girlfriend either screamed at him or talked about trying for a baby and dropping out of school.

I'm now the most confident that I've ever been in my life, and polyamorous - so I showed my younger self that not only can I be loved, I'm loved by many. Also, fuck you Andrew.

Username: CorinthiaAtticora

Honestly. I was 15-16 at the time(18 now) and I'm a pretty stocky guy, wasn't massively muscular, I was unfit and had quite a bit of body fat, but other than that I was pretty good looking in my opinion, when I was in school I got with this girl(1.5 years younger, so 14 when I was 15, 15 when I was 16 etc) , first 6 months was great, we got along well, similar interests, both enjoyed games and had similar sense of humour. It went downhill fast.

Things got worse and I was forced to sleep with her when I was 16 and she was 15 under the guise she'd cheat, end her life and leave my name in the note saying I'd forced her into things even though I hadn't. I complied and did her bidding and whatnot and she had that against me until the end of the relationship.

She'd say things degrading me, anything from what I like, what I look like and what I do in my spare time and lie about cheating just to get a reaction, see me upset and then laugh at me, and the only reason I wouldn't leave is because she would threaten to report me for sleeping with her and that she'd lie about what happened to make it look as if I forced her into it.

Over the year after, I was constantly getting the same threats and was forced to get rid of all my friends but 1, who I'd only be "allowed" to message once or twice a day.

I took going to the gym as an opportunity to better myself and try to feel confident again, and it was a last resort before I planned to try ending my life. It took a long time but I managed to talk to someone I used to be very close with in school who helped me out, got me out of the relationship and helped me gather 600+ screenshots of what happened in case she ever followed through.

I am now dating said person and have been for over a year and a half. It still impacts me badly to this day every now and then but I still go to the gym and try everything to make myself feel better.

Unfortunately I have reasonable suspicion that she is being unfaithful due to some messages I've seen whilst sitting next to her and her hiding her phone when 1 specific person messages her. So I'm not sure what I'll do after that, but I'll keep going to the gym and hope for the best.

Username: myanonymouslifestory

Having my best friend take theirs... I watched his family destroyed and his father was never the same. I thought I was pretty much done with feeling feelings and had a starting of an idea to commit suicide. But I was torn to shreds. His sister his brother his grandparents were inconsolable.

His parents had an attachement to me after that for years they would come to my stuff and I hated every minute of it. I was mad at him for so long and still am. I won't tell you how he killed himself because i feel like people read these to get ideas.

I cant say don't kill yourself because I firmly believe that we as humans have the right to choose what's for us but I'll say something. His suicide changed peoples lives that he loved and that loved him. They were not changed for the better and the waves are still around.

This affect will last their entire lives and will never turn positive. His mom and dad have a hole that is visible every second you look at them. Their smiles aren't as big as before. Their humor is different. Their capacity for joy is smaller. I as his friend wonder why he didn't call me.

Why he decided to go. I was married, have a son, went to college, turned 21 went on adventures all without him. And somewhere in the back of my mind through all of those was Tayler should be here. He deserved to get old and he stole that away from himself.

So I'll finish with this. If you are reading this and thinking about killing yourself. Wait and consider that this life isn't a singular journey. You are connected in so many ways to this world and whether you believe it or not I believe you have a purpose. It may not be glamorous and it may not be what you want right now but someone or something is affected by your living presence.

And if you're looking to hurt someone by killing yourself then I hope that you look around those people and find your focus somewhere else. If you can't be destined for this world I understand.

Just remember that it's going to be black and larger than you'll ever know. It's been 14 years since Tayler killed himself and I remember every day how it felt when I found out.

Username: fatmenolympics1

I saw all of the lives around me and they sucked. Every adult I knew was a drunk/drug addict or both. My mother was highly toxic and now I see that she was abusive. I didn’t see a bright future for myself.

Their shitty life felt like it would inevitably become my shitty life bc no matter the route I tried to claw my way out of it, it just wasn’t going to happen. I’d already tried a few things a few times to kill myself, but each attempt failed for one reason or another.

Eventually, I was old enough to buy a handgun. I decided that I’d give myself 5 years- if life hadn’t improved at all, I’d do it. People always warn that things are temporary and that’s why you shouldn’t, but I figured if in 5 years things were still just as shitty, if I was still this unhappy, I’d do it. I still know my ‘death date’.

Obviously things did improve bc that was 6 years ago. I put more physical and emotional distance between the people I knew back then, including my parents. Found some role models who were sober- that helped a lot.

People don’t even realize how even functional addicts are just ruining things around them slowly. I got on meds for my anxiety- that helped the most. I’ve never had a job I loved, so even at 32 I’m trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up but that never mattered all that much to me anyway. I got married to a great guy who saw through my parents and didn’t just think I was a petulant kid.

Idk, I guess I decided to give life a solid shot and gave myself permission to end it if things weren’t better. That felt like a lot of weight off of my shoulders while also pushing me to strive for better.

It’s weird, like I’ve never felt so motivated in my life yet completely unafraid of fucking up bc if I did or things stayed just as shitty as I imagined they would, I knew I could just be done with it.

To be clear, I don’t recommend this. If my ‘day’ had come and I wasn’t in an ok frame of mind I probably could have come up with plenty of reasons to go ahead and do it. That and if I had made even a couple more missteps along the way- I’d be gone. I meant it when I set the date.

In the first 3-4yrs I would often think stuff like ‘I only gotta make it to X and then the don’t have to do this shit anymore’. Now, I have a couple kids, couple cats and a dog. Great marriage. Like the thought that this wouldn’t exist scares me a little.

Username: MrsBobber

God... because I tried. Long story short, I was a shitty person at one time (might still be, lol) and realized it, down to my soul. Decided the "world was better off"... I stepped in front of a moving vehicle in extremely icy conditions. I'd been watching people slide in the same spot for a while.

I stepped in front of a black Jeep with my eyes closed, fully intending on being done. When I opened my eyes, the Jeep was on the other side of me driving off. T

here was no time for them to react, if anything it was like I just wasnt there, for a split second. They never stopped & the snow tracks hadn't changed.

I had a series of experiences immediately afterward (starting within 5 minutes) that I cannot explain without using words like "God, Heaven, Hell, Cerebus (yes, the hellhound), Holy Spirit, etc." eventually. I was sober but I'd had experiences with hallucinogenics - nothing compared to the things happening that day.

The world became interactive on a thought level. At first I felt like maybe I was already dead, and that this was my Hell. A dog shows up out of nowhere - meanest, ugliest mongrel I have ever met - and he is "Hell bent" on trying to attack ME, even though I'm like 2 football fields away from him. His owner didn't know what to think, neither did I... I usually get along with animals.

After those two experiences I just sat & cried a bit, apologizing to the universe, that a dog so far away could just sense my "evil"...

Once I got it back together, I was torn between going two different directions, home to go try and start putting things right or the only Christians I knew who I knew would take me in for a bit - and suddenly a bus goes by with a billboard asking "---Which way do you go?---".

On my way home, a gigantic flock of birds followed me - almost 3 miles. They responded to my emotional state. Every time I had positive thoughts, they got so loud it was almost deafening - yet the moment any kind of self destructive thought approached they'd go absolutely silent.

Loooong story short, God came into my life. In Christianity I've found that my experiences would be more associated with the "Holy Spirit", although not everything I experienced was at the time.

Username: risingmoon01

I was ready to end it all, so I stepped on that ledge. I was at peace with myself. Then just as I was about to take flight, a thought crossed my mind:

"You know, I can always jump tomorrow. 🤔 Sure, I'm ready to end it all, but perhaps I should grab a decent bite to eat? How about that fancy restaurant I saw in the movies? It'd be my last meal.

I was always afraid to splurge, but if I'd be gone by tomorrow anyway, what's another few bucks on my credit card? Debt won't follow me to the grave."

So I had the most ridiculous and pretentious dinner of my life, came home, and slept thru the night. The next evening came and I stood up on that ledge again. Another thought had come:

"Well, I've never been to a sandy beach before ⛱️. Sure, I'm ready to end it, but it'd be a damn shame to go without at least knowing what an ocean breeze actually feels like. Meh, what's another few days for a trip? The ledge will still be here when I get back."

So I took a humble road trip 🚙 and came back home. Stepped up on that ledge another time, and another thought:

"Hmmm, that barista ☕️ at the highway cafe was kinda cute. I wonder if I should stop by just one last time and say hello? If I get rejected, oh well, my ledge would still be here. Then again, I wonder what working at a cafe is like? Should I just apply and work there for a week? Who knows? It might even help me get to know that barista a little better."

So while standing on top of that ledge, I started listing out the things I would like to do before I actually take the final plunge: 1) say hi to that barista, 2) work at a cafe, 3) volunteer picking up trash at the beach, 4) study marine biology...

After a while, the list started getting longer than I could keep in my head, so I stepped down for a bit to jot them down. Some of the things on my list were rather trivial, like go see/eat/touch/experience this and/or that.

While some of the items were bigger/longer projects with smaller prerequisites to fulfill along the way, like learning how to swim, so that I can be a deep sea diver, so that I can research ocean pollution, so that and so forth...

It's been 17 years since I first wrote that list. Over the years, I knocked down several items fron that list while also adding a ton more to that list. Apparently, the more I experience in life, the more I find things that seem interesting enough for me to want to experience.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still committed to ending my life. I'll definitely jump from that ledge one day, but just not today, and probably not anytime too soon. I still have a sh*t ton of stuff I need to finish before I get to my final task.

Username: shallowsp

You Always Have Other Options. Sounds stupid, but I mean I was close to the edge, TW but I held a loaded gun in my hands then bought one etc. V close to the edge. But for my parents’ sake cause I know it would just destroy them, I tried YAHOO. Not the website, but the acronym.

Because: if you’re gonna just die, you might as well try everything you can first. So, I always was hung up on taking meds, just didn’t want to do it at all, but after weeks of no sleep and being truly that on the edge, I checked myself into a psych ward and they got me in meds.

Haven’t had a totally sleepless night since and things are finally getting better, I could feel joy again after months of intensive therapy and meds. Sertraline or whatever.

If you tried one med that didnt work? Try another. Maybe meds aren’t your thing, try mushrooms (idk it seems like that genuinely helps people and I’m getting more and more curious about it myself!). Again, if you’re going to die.

Like really you’re that close and you’re just going to die, what are you afraid of? Cancer? Well, that’s death isn’t it? Are you afraid of stomach aches? Stomachs hurt a lot more if they’re bleeding from some gunshot or you have crushed dead lungs after the jump etc etc etc.

Made a bad investment and lost your as well as all of your family’s money and can’t bear that burden? How much worse do you think it would be for them to be flat out broke **AND grieving** ya sillywillie???!!!?! Why not: admit defeat, money isn’t everything, but if you’re not dead yet there is still a chance and time to make it back or at least some of it.

Death is the last option but I promise you, it’s not the only one. You might as well try absolutely everything else out first. Again, resisted meds for years but: if I was gonna die anyway, I might as well try meds and die later if it turns into cancer. So far, well, it actually hasn’t. So... cool.

**It’s so gd impossible to see any other option though, so strongly recommend: get some help.** family might be too complicated, so call someone, a helpline, and not the National one honestly that one just sucked for me, but something more Local, RESOLVE was my best option in my city. Maybe you need another voice to help you see what’s in your blind spots, what other options there actually are.

Good luck. Frankly if I could come out of all that, my bets are on you can too. And it will be much much better when you’re looking back on whatever hellish nightmare you can’t find your way out of just yet. Keep looking and again get help and ask others questions. And YAHOO.

Username: ribbons_in_my_hair

At the time I lived in a big 6 floor student hall. The top floor only covered half the building, and the fire escape was on part that the floor didn't extend to, so to get to the fire escape if you lived on the top floor, you had to go out onto the roof through a door, walk across it and into the fire escape stairway. There was a railing across the roof to stop you falling but you could easily just duck through it.

So my room was on the top floor of this place. And as it's a student hall, you can imagine I got very familiar with that roof exit after only a few weeks of living there. It seemed every other day someone was setting off the fire alarm, be it crap cooking, smoking in their rooms or just generally fucking around with the sensors. It didn't do me much good that a few of these times were at 3 or 4 am.

Not gonna get into too much detail but at somepoint I'd had enough of everything and had decided I was gonna jump from the roof. It was super easy access, so I was out there, through the railing and standing on the edge looking down.

I would've landed in a little alleyway, nice and quiet so nobody would notice, just like I thought they wouldn't. But then I get all tensed up just standing there staring. It might have only been a minute or ten but it felt like I was stood there for an hour. Then just when I was about to be done mentally double checking that I wanted do jump, something hit the back of my neck.

A drop of rain. I didn't really think much of it, I just kind of sighed and went back inside, like it had ruined my afternoon or something. It was only after I got back inside that I realised what I'd been doing, and that I wouldn't be able to come back to my room again had I jumped. So I decided against it.

I didn't really get help for it at all. My parents still don't know the full story although they knew a few weeks after this that I was suicidaly depressed. I've just never trusted others to help. It's been 4 years and I still don't really understand wtf I'm doing alive, but hey at least I enjoy the rain now.

Username: 395_is_my_start_year

Honestly, it was a stray cat. That time period in my life was gnarly. Fresh out of the military, was struggling to cope with being home and getting a routine, struggling in school, had a shitty nine to five, just went through a gnarly break up, didn't talk to anyone at all, and all the mental health baggage that would come with all of that.

I was genuinely going through the ringer. I wasn't close to my family at all back then nor did I have many friends so I felt completely alone. I hated being home alone because I knew I would try to forever nap. I was staying with my brother to avoid being alone.

Then one day, I hit my breaking point. It must of been a shitty day. I had an entire plan on what and how I would do it. I remember I had to stop by my brother's place for something then I was gonna head home and do it. But what I didn't expect was my brother sitting on the front porch that night with a skinny Black and White Tuxedo cat.

The little guy was cuddling all over my brother and as soon as he saw me, came trotting up, and refused to leave my side. It was a feeling I haven't felt for a while. This little fur ball was showing me affection. He was just skin and bones. I think I decided to stay another night with my brother but we gave this guy a fully belly and a warm place to sleep that night.

I thought that this guy had to be one of our neighbors cats but I never saw him around the neighborhood before. The Tuxedo boy slept right into my side the entire night. The next morning, he followed me around like he was my shadow. I was leaving for work where he walked onto the front porch with me and I just left. I knew if he was someone's outdoor cat, I couldn't just take him.

I left for an eight hour workday and came back, still persistent on my original plan, ready to check out early, but lo and behold, I saw the well dressed Tuxedo in the same exact spot where I left him earlier that day. As soon as he heard me approach, he shot up and came running over to me, resuming his endless onslaught of love and cuddles.

I spent another night with him and called out of work the next day to take him to the vet. See if he was chipped, see if he had his vaccines, etc. The vet said he was healthy, his nails were trimmed recently, and he appeared to be up to date on his vaccines. (I don't know, that's what the Vet said.) But he did not have a chip. So that left me with a decision.

Do I keep him or do I let him go. He found me at the height of COVID, so a bunch of people were moving out of the apartment community we lived in then, so I was worried they lost him or just left him behind. I kept an eye out for missing cat posters and even asked neighbors that were still here, all of them telling me no.

So it was decided, I was keeping him. The first time I brought him back to my apartment, he acted like he lived there for years. He got comfortable right away, even though this was a whole new place for him. He never left my side.

He was always my little shadow, everywhere I went, he was right next to me. Anytime I broke down and cried, he would be on me in seconds, nuzzling me and chirping at me to let me know he was right there.

It's been years and he is still right by my side everyday. He has never left and he has become one of the best things that has ever happened to me. He's in tip top shape, healthy and full compared to then, full of life, and without a doubt in my mind, my soulmate.

I wake up to him every morning by my side and fall asleep every night with him right there. I know for a fact if he never found me, I wouldn't be here today. He showed me that at least he loved me for me and never saw the fault or bad in me.

Now, I'm working a job I love, married happily to the love of my life, working towards a degree in a field I love, have amazing friends, close to my family again, and I look back on those days and just laugh.

All because of him. He needed me and I needed him. My cat, Ace of Spade, saved my life and I will give him the life that he gave me.

Username: Professional-Sink488

I know its counterintuitive, but, target shooting. When I was 22 or so I had a relationship fall apart and over the last several years I had lost the relationships with most of my close friends.

When my girlfriend of the time decided to leave it was extremely hard to find myself devoid of most social interaction and gratification. Self harm was where it started, escalating to the point of burning myself with boiling water and all the fun stuff that comes with it.

I'm not proud of the spiral itself and did have those moments where I knew I wasn't ok. Without going into detail there was a night where it clicked how "not ok" I really was.

Tried therapy and antidepressants but while that caused a change, it didn't cause an improvement. Also, as a snivveling college kid I had almost no disposable income and wasn't really able to enjoy the games I had played with the ex anymore - so was also in a situation where I had no discernable hobbies left to enjoy.

However, I was taught gun safety at a young age from family members and bought a cheap .22 when I was 18. .22 ammo is pretty inexpensive stuff relatively speaking and a range day would cost me $10 and $8 of ammo and maybe $5 in gas.

I had never made a dedicated effort to shoot *accurately* before so getting decent results at 50 yards from a $150 gun I bought with my first "adult" paycheck was an incredibly intense task mentally. When I was so focused on making sure I got the proper release or squeeze, it was impossible for me to think about anything else.

Then, seeing my skills improve when I did my trip every couple weeks became confidence boosting; salvaging some mental clarity. When I wasn't at the range I would be looking at ways to improve my technique, building things to use as rests, learning how to polish the mechanisms to make the trigger have a better break, things like that.

It's been a while since then but I still have that same rifle in the same configuration as when I would take it out for a therapy day at 22.

Username: Gromann