The first time I attempted to hang myself, the noose slipped. Kiss it off to being young and not having proper knowledge of noose tying. At that time, my boyfriend and I decided to exit together. We both suffered the same failure. I blamed it on the survival instinct that seemed to kick in as soon as I became suspended and the noose tightened. I grabbed at the noose to try to pull it away from my throat. I did pass out, as did my boyfriend. But the grabbing I did must have jerked the knot, as a few minutes later, we both came to on the floor with bruised necks. The ropes were still wrapped around the beam above our heads. The second time was poor timing. I was found after maybe four minutes, and wound up in the hospital for six months. Other than failing, both attempts were, well, this is hard to explain, but, both attempts were kind of euphoric. Even as I was hanging and grabbing at the noose the first time, I felt a sense of pleasure, like death was actually beautiful. I didn't struggle the second time, as I fought the urge to do so, and fought to just hang as still as I could until I passed out. There was a third attempt that was just as pleasant, except for being found before I was dead. That one left me in the hospital for two years. I would still choose hanging over any other method, if for no other reason, it gave me those euphoric pleasures.