suicide isn't painless
Since it was asked about, I did try to commit suicide once. Obviously, it was a failed attempt, but, it wasn’t a good attempt in the first place.
I was in high school, it was an early fall day, and I’d done something to get in trouble so I was spending the afternoon in my room. I was mad, and so I started pounding on my window to get my dad’s attention. He ignored me, until I hit the window hard enough to break the inner piece of glass. I had a bit of glass stuck in my right wrist, all the way over in the bend where my wrist meets my hand. So, being pessimistic and depressed and upset I shoved it in further. My dad burst in just after this, hauled me across the hall to the bathroom and proceeded to clean me up and remove the glass while I watched with no interest whatsoever. It hurt, he put a plain old bandaid on it, and took a ¼ inch piece of glass out of the sink and shook his head.
Now I have a scar, and that was the first and last time I attempted suicide. Yes, sometimes the thought crosses my mind as a way to relieve the pain and to get the attention of others, but, not being a fan of physical pain, I am unlikely to ever do it again. I’m the one who makes a big to-do about a paper cut. That, and I tend to get attention from others in other ways, which is not healthy in the slightest, but, I acknowledge that and that is part of what I’m working on.
I’d attach a picture, but the phone would rather focus on the desk than my wrist. I do have a scar on top of the veins on the same hand from a cat who decided that my wrist would make a great brace for a flying leap off of me. And actually, that scar from glass is the only one that was ever intentionally self-inflicted.
So now you know.
I was in high school, it was an early fall day, and I’d done something to get in trouble so I was spending the afternoon in my room. I was mad, and so I started pounding on my window to get my dad’s attention. He ignored me, until I hit the window hard enough to break the inner piece of glass. I had a bit of glass stuck in my right wrist, all the way over in the bend where my wrist meets my hand. So, being pessimistic and depressed and upset I shoved it in further. My dad burst in just after this, hauled me across the hall to the bathroom and proceeded to clean me up and remove the glass while I watched with no interest whatsoever. It hurt, he put a plain old bandaid on it, and took a ¼ inch piece of glass out of the sink and shook his head.
Now I have a scar, and that was the first and last time I attempted suicide. Yes, sometimes the thought crosses my mind as a way to relieve the pain and to get the attention of others, but, not being a fan of physical pain, I am unlikely to ever do it again. I’m the one who makes a big to-do about a paper cut. That, and I tend to get attention from others in other ways, which is not healthy in the slightest, but, I acknowledge that and that is part of what I’m working on.
I’d attach a picture, but the phone would rather focus on the desk than my wrist. I do have a scar on top of the veins on the same hand from a cat who decided that my wrist would make a great brace for a flying leap off of me. And actually, that scar from glass is the only one that was ever intentionally self-inflicted.
So now you know.