OuijaBored
Member
- Apr 8, 2022
- 27
I'm so angry, I feel like everyone gets to CTB but me. I've felt this way for a long time, the first person I knew to CTB was a childhood friend of mine. They were 16 upon CTB. I could never fathom how they managed it, because I could only dream of it.
My SI is so high with these things. A night I OD'd on a fuckload of X, and somehow managed to "resurrect" without going down the drain as I circled it. It wasn't my time, because I wasn't I'm control. That one wasn't even intentional, but probably by far the closest I've come. It was terrifying, numbing, then peaceful. I berate my brain for saying "come on, let's get up", because maybe if it hadn't, I would've passed in that bathtub and not suffer for a near decade afterwards.
I'm angry, because how did I know someone who CTB at about 13? How on earth did she do it? I wrack my brains often about how the both of them managed to do what they did. Both hanging, and everytime I try I fail. I panick. I don't want to be in pain. I've picked the wrong time. It hurts. I'm afraid.
In every conversation where CTB gets brought up, someone says "we'll if a person is actually suicidal, then they'll do it. You only do it if you actually are."
So why am I still here? Seething over the fact that I think about it every single fucking hour of every single fucking day and still not able to?
Because, morbidly and funnily enough, the self help and therapy over the years did nothing but teach me one thing; 'It's not my fault, I don't deserve pain'.
The final act of love I will ever commit will be to myself. A lifetime of existing as other people's punching bag, a lifetime of love spent on others and not an ounce back to me in anyway will end with me finally loving myself enough to choose and use the least painful method I can. Even if that means having to live it out so I can afford in a few years. And I don't worry about changing my mind. I haven't changed my mind since my first damn attempt. Nothing changes my mind.
My SI is so high with these things. A night I OD'd on a fuckload of X, and somehow managed to "resurrect" without going down the drain as I circled it. It wasn't my time, because I wasn't I'm control. That one wasn't even intentional, but probably by far the closest I've come. It was terrifying, numbing, then peaceful. I berate my brain for saying "come on, let's get up", because maybe if it hadn't, I would've passed in that bathtub and not suffer for a near decade afterwards.
I'm angry, because how did I know someone who CTB at about 13? How on earth did she do it? I wrack my brains often about how the both of them managed to do what they did. Both hanging, and everytime I try I fail. I panick. I don't want to be in pain. I've picked the wrong time. It hurts. I'm afraid.
In every conversation where CTB gets brought up, someone says "we'll if a person is actually suicidal, then they'll do it. You only do it if you actually are."
So why am I still here? Seething over the fact that I think about it every single fucking hour of every single fucking day and still not able to?
Because, morbidly and funnily enough, the self help and therapy over the years did nothing but teach me one thing; 'It's not my fault, I don't deserve pain'.
The final act of love I will ever commit will be to myself. A lifetime of existing as other people's punching bag, a lifetime of love spent on others and not an ounce back to me in anyway will end with me finally loving myself enough to choose and use the least painful method I can. Even if that means having to live it out so I can afford in a few years. And I don't worry about changing my mind. I haven't changed my mind since my first damn attempt. Nothing changes my mind.