Date	Name/email Nom/email	What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13? Quelle est la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans?
24 Nov 2018	Phillip	By hanging/ rope.
28 Jan 2018	Strech my urethra	Did you know std rates are higher in homosexual faggot populations the non fag populous.syphillis and anal warts.
02 Feb 2016	Dr. Phil	See a psychiatrist.
19 Nov 2011	shameful	Delicate line between heaven and earth… The calm of the ages, all the world’s worth. Such minuscule measure, while we think it so grand… Just five specks of smallness, This soft quiet land. So frail and so fleeting, in the end you will see Simple dreams were Horatio’s philosophy. For all the truth, all creation, all secrets of yore Can be told in an instant, by then they’re no more. Ah, The Unexplainable All worries unsettled, heartache unresolved… All questions unanswered, with death, shall be solved. We already teeter, this sheer cliff so high. When we fall to corruption, insecurities die. To end is to start; to surrender is to know. Despair and depression, together they grow. Hope shall meet hopeless when there’s nowhere to go. Misao Fujimura
18 Jun 2009	the dark turd	ummm... well there are manhy ways to kill youself. first is self pity. then with irony. did you know you can kill yourself with kindness. hah. get it? kill yourself with kindness. ahh.. never mind. by the way (get it bi the way) is there still a bloke(heh) called Phill on this sight. good on ya mate. can i kiss you. i mean, not in a gay way or anything. just a man kiss, ya know. aka, the dark turd
26 May 2009	M.M. a.k.a. billy the freak	amsterdam heaves like the breath in her lungs. people bustle through the streets as the blood surges through her veins. i can feel this all around me.... however, i sit alone in the a bar. I want to be alone, only me and the bartender. hey, did you know i have the power to be anybody? i can go anywhere and do anything, any-fucking-way i want to do it. However, tonight I sit alone. i sit in a basement level dive too dark to see the clock on the wall, yet bright enough to see the bar in front of me. the pink neon light in the window screamed in its best cursive 'MOUCHETTE' a warm and ambient glow enveloping you like a womb welcoming all to her embrace. however, tonight i sit alone. The bartender is mouchette and i am only a guest in her place. like me she has the power to be anything, but only in the minds of other people. if you were to ask her who she was("mouchette, really who are you?")she would say she killed herself at the brink of thirteen and in death had second thoughts. now she plays a game and through this game she lives on. tonight mouchette is a thirty something italian woman with the type of beauty that says you would like to fuck her, but wouldn't really perform at your best only because you are intimidated by her razor sharp wit and her worldly charm.. She has so many friends and you never feel good enough in her company. the intimate encounters are few and far between and you both want more. when you are away she is always in the back of your mind. i know all this and tonight she is only the bartender, why she is in this spittoon of a saloon could only be guessed, but i do know she is here... aways here for me. "mouchette! baby doll, please pour me another." i belted. "billy darling no need to shout; i am right here and there is no one else in the bar." she said in a reprimanding tone."another vodka and tonic i would bet." "right you are. you know me well." "i know you because you know you, you know me and right now... this is all we know." "positively insightful mouchette, I say you inspire me. you are my muse." this i announced with a certain amount of glee. "billy" she said while fixing my drink. "I am afraid the booze is your muse.." She sat the drink down in front of me. I was outraged. "mouchette, you... how could you say this? do you want to hurt me? do you want me to feel bad?" "again billy, this is all we know. I think you must ask yourself that question." {what is her angle? what is she getting at? i want her to go with the flow.} i took the drink in one gulp then slammed the heavy short glass motioning for another drink, nectar of the gods. " vodka and tonic yes?" "ha!! i would like a whiskey and coke, if you put pepsi in there i will fucking smack you." i said triumphantly "you are slipping mouchette... maybe you are not my muse" "the joke is on you billy." she said in a tired voice and made the drink in the same dirty glass. {the joke was on me. i hate whiskey. what is this? do i have control? yes, i have all the control. when i am here i am king and she is the servant. So why do i feel so helpless.} the neon light from out side the bar shined through my half empty short glass, casting glimmers of light onto the slick bar top. the lights danced across the fine finished wood as i turned the glass between my thumb and index finger. suddenly i felt alone. no longer alone by choice, but alone... just helplessly alone. "well billy, I'm here" falicia said out of nowhere. "how did you get here." I asked. "you let me in silly, what kind of question is that." now i am simply sick of this shit. "are you going to fuck with me too falicia!" i shot the whiskey and the fumes and words came out my mouth like fire. "i don't know how you got here. i don't know why you keep coming back. i didn't open that fucking door." "i found the door and walked through it just like you did billy, ask yourself these questions and you will find the answers you are looking for." falicia ordered a mineral water and drank while i thought about what she said. i first came here when i was sixteen it was 1998 ten years passed and now i am twenty six. i didn't give anything, i only took for one decade. she was always here when i needed her and at times she made me feel special, at times she made me feel worthless. I would run away but only in presence. in the stealth of the night i would visit. the price i pay is her always haunting me, for not a day goes by... not a day goes by. did i want a suicide kit for christmas? no, i just wanted to show other children how to play with the toy. i am no longer a child, but i still play with this toy. "falicia i come here because as long as people come here i cannot die.... i will live forever. this is the gift she gave me and i tell you, i don't know if i deserve it." just when i thought i was opening up falicia started to laugh a hysterical laugh. then lucy and phil join in. chris and will snow chime and it now a chorus of laughter. joe lee, mackellar, elaine, agent orange, just a girl, and many others have the bar quaking with laughter. in spite of myself i start to chuckle as well, but i had to ask. "falicia why are we laughing." "you wanting to live forever is all fine and good," she said as she points across the bar with her finger resting towards the bartender. "but what happens when she dies." that very moment i had ad a revelation and with that change a change happened in mouchette. her cigarette burn eyes stared at me as she poured me another vodka and tonic, her smile was just crack on her plastic face
07 Mar 2009	Loki	You kids need to realize that suicide is one of the most selfish things a human being can do. If you believe in the christian heaven and hell, you should check out dante's dream about hell in his book "inferno", and see where he meets "the suicides" and then see how that corrollates with the christian bible on what happens to those who destroy god's temple in self-righteousness, disowning the laws of both man and god. As an atheist, it took more than that for me, but for you tweens (no disrespect), that might be enough to reconsider. I've tried twice, and vowed to do it the right way the next time, but even the dark side of me is repulsed by the creator of this page and the people who claim to be adults giving advice to thirteen-year-olds on the right way. Fucking sick. Your feelings are very real and very important and even though it seems nobody cares or understands, somebody does. Try me. And for you fucking sick pedophilic sadistic chickenhawks with the advice... You can try me, too.
13 Oct 2008	crystal	The Quest - by Wystan Hugh Auden I. The Door Out of it steps our future, through this door Enigmas, executioners and rules, Her Majesty in a bad temper or A red-nosed Fool who makes a fool of fools. Great persons eye it in the twilight for A past it might so carelessly let in, A widow with a missionary grin, The foaming inundation at a roar. We pile our all against it when afraid, And beat upon its panels when we die: By happening to be open once, it made Enormous Alice see a wonderland That waited for her in the sunshine and, Simply by being tiny, made her cry. II. The Preparations All had been ordered weeks before the start From the best firms at such work: instruments To take the measure of all queer events, And drugs to move the bowels or the heart. A watch, of course, to watch impatience fly, Lamps for the dark and shades against the sun; Foreboding, too, insisted on a gun, And coloured beads to soothe a savage eye. In theory they were sound on Expectation, Had there been situations to be in; Unluckily they were their situation: One should not give a poisoner medicine, A conjurer fine apparatus, nor A rifle to a melancholic bore. III. The Crossroads Two friends who met here and embraced are gone, Each to his own mistake; one flashes on To fame and ruin in a rowdy lie, A village torpor holds the other one, Some local wrong where it takes time to die: This empty junction glitters in the sun. So at all quays and crossroads: who can tell These places of decision and farewell To what dishonour all adventure leads, What parting gift could give that friend protection, So orientated his vocation needs The Bad Lands and the sinister direction? All landscapes and all weathers freeze with fear, But none have ever thought, the legends say, The time allowed made it impossible; For even the most pessimistic set The limit of their errors at a year. What friends could there be left then to betray, What joy take longer to atone for; yet Who could complete without the extra day The journey that should take no time at all? IV. The Traveler No window in his suburb lights that bedroom where A little fever heard large afternoons at play: His meadows multiply; that mill, though, is not there Which went on grinding at the back of love all day. Nor all his weeping ways through weary wastes have found The castle where his Greater Hallows are interned; For broken bridges halt him, and dark thickets round Some ruin where an evil heritage was burned. Could he forget a child's ambition to be old And institutions where it learned to wash and lie, He'd tell the truth for which he thinks himself too young, That everywhere on his horizon, all the sky, Is now, as always, only waiting to be told To be his father's house and speak his mother tongue. V. The City In villages from which their childhoods came Seeking Necessity, they had been taught Necessity by nature is the same No matter how or by whom it be sought. The city, though, assumed no such belief, But welcomed each as if he came alone, The nature of Necessity like grief Exactly corresponding to his own. And offered them so many, every one Found some temptation fit to govern him, And settled down to master the whole craft Of being nobody; sat in the sun During the lunch-hour round the fountain rim, And watched the country kids arrive, and laughed. VI. The First Temptation Ashamed to be the darling of his grief, He joined a gang of rowdy stories where His gift for magic quickly made him chief Of all these boyish powers of the air; Who turned his hungers into Roman food, The town's asymmetry into a park; All hours took taxis; any solitude Became his flattered duchess in the dark. But, if he wished for anything less grand, The nights came padding after him like wild Beasts that meant harm, and all the doors cried Thief; And when Truth had met him and put out her hand, He clung in panic to his tall belief And shrank away like an ill-treated child. VII. The Second Temptation His library annoyed him with its look Of calm belief in being really there; He threw away a rival's boring book, And clattered panting up the spiral stair. Swaying upon the parapet he cried: "O Uncreated Nothing, set me free, Now let Thy perfect be identified, Unending passion of the Night, with Thee." And his long-suffering flesh, that all the time Had felt the simple cravings of the stone And hoped to be rewarded for her climb, Took it to be a promise when he spoke That now at last she would be left alone, And plunged into the college quad, and broke. VIII. The Third Temptation He watched with all his organs of concern How princes walk, what wives and children say, Re-opened old graves in his heart to learn What laws the dead had died to disobey, And came reluctantly to his conclusion: "All the arm-chair philosophies are false; To love another adds to the confusion; The song of mercy is the Devil's Waltz." All that he put his hand to prospered so That soon he was the very King of creatures, Yet, in an autumn nightmare trembled, for, Approaching down a ruined corridor, Strode someone with his own distorted features Who wept, and grew enormous, and cried Woe. IX. The Tower This is an architecture for the old; Thus heaven was attacked by the afraid, So once, unconsciously, a virgin made Her maidenhead conspicuous to a god. Here on dark nights while worlds of triumph sleep Lost Love in abstract speculation burns, And exiled Will to politics returns In epic verse that makes its traitors weep. Yet many come to wish their tower a well; For those who dread to drown, of thirst may die, Those who see all become invisible: Here great magicians, caught in their own spell, Long for a natural climate as they sigh "Beware of Magic" to the passer-by. X. The Presumptuous They noticed that virginity was needed To trap the unicorn in every case, But not that, of those virgins who succeeded, A high percentage had an ugly face. The hero was as daring as they thought him, But his peculiar boyhood missed them all; The angel of a broken leg had taught him The right precautions to avoid a fall. So in presumption they set forth alone On what, for them, was not compulsory, And stuck half-way to settle in some cave With desert lions to domesticity, Or turned aside to be absurdly brave, And met the ogre and were turned to stone. XI. The Average His peasant parents killed themselves with toil To let their darling leave a stingy soil For any of those fine professions which Encourage shallow breathing, and grow rich. The pressure of their fond ambition made Their shy and country-loving child afraid No sensible career was good enough, Only a hero could deserve such love. So here he was without maps or supplies, A hundred miles from any decent town; The desert glared into his blood-shot eyes, The silence roared displeasure: looking down, He saw the shadow of an Average Man Attempting the exceptional, and ran. XII. Vocation Incredulous, he stared at the amused Official writing down his name among Those whose request to suffer was refused. The pen ceased scratching: though he came too late To join the martyrs, there was still a place Among the tempters for a caustic tongue To test the resolution of the young With tales of the small failings of the great, And shame the eager with ironic praise. Though mirrors might be hateful for a while, Women and books would teach his middle age The fencing wit of an informal style, To keep the silences at bay and cage His pacing manias in a worldly smile. XIII. The Useful The over-logical fell for the witch Whose argument converted him to stone, Thieves rapidly absorbed the over-rich, The over-popular went mad alone, And kisses brutalised the over-male. As agents their importance quickly ceased; Yet, in proportion as they seemed to fail, Their instrumental value was increased For one predestined to attain their wish. By standing stones the blind can feel their way, Wild dogs compel the cowardly to fight, Beggars assist the slow to travel light, And even madmen manage to convey Unwelcome truths in lonely gibberish. XIV. The Way Fresh addenda are published every day To the encyclopedia of the Way, Linguistic notes and scientific explanations, And texts for schools with modernised spelling and illustrations. Now everyone knows the hero must choose the old horse, Abstain from liquor and sexual intercourse, And look out for a stranded fish to be kind to: Now everyone thinks he could find, had he a mind to, The way through the waste to the chapel in the rock For a vision of the Triple Rainbow or the Astral Clock, Forgetting his information comes mostly from married men Who liked fishing and a flutter on the horses now and then. And how reliable can any truth be that is got By observing oneself and then just inserting a Not? XV. The Lucky Suppose he'd listened to the erudite committee, He would have only found where not to look; Suppose his terrier when he whistled had obeyed, It would not have unearthed the buried city; Suppose he had dismissed the careless maid, The cryptogram would not have fluttered from the book. "It was not I," he cried as, healthy and astounded, He stepped across a predecessor's skull; "A nonsense jingle simply came into my head And left the intellectual Sphinx dumbfounded; I won the Queen because my hair was red; The terrible adventure is a little dull." Hence Failure's torment: "Was I doomed in any case, Or would I not have failed had I believed in Grace?" XVI. The Hero He parried every question that they hurled: "What did the Emperor tell you?" "Not to push." "What is the greatest wonder of the world?" "The bare man Nothing in the Beggar's Bush." Some muttered: "He is cagey for effect. A hero owes a duty to his fame. He looks too like a grocer for respect." Soon they slipped back into his Christian name. The only difference that could be seen From those who'd never risked their lives at all Was his delight in details and routine: For he was always glad to mow the grass, Pour liquids from large bottles into small, Or look at clouds through bits of coloured glass. XVII. Adventure Others had found it prudent to withdraw Before official pressure was applied, Embittered robbers outlawed by the Law, Lepers in terror of the terrified. But no one else accused these of a crime; They did not look ill: old friends, overcome, Stared as they rolled away from talk and time Like marbles out into the blank and dumb. The crowd clung all the closer to convention, Sunshine and horses, for the sane know why The even numbers should ignore the odd: The Nameless is what no free people mention; Successful men know better than to try To see the face of their Absconded God. XVIII. The Adventurers Spinning upon their central thirst like tops, They went the Negative Way towards the Dry; By empty caves beneath an empty sky They emptied out their memories like slops, Which made a foul marsh as they dried to death, Where monsters bred who forced them to forget The lovelies their consent avoided; yet, Still praising the Absurd with their last breath, They seeded out into their miracles: The images of each grotesque temptation Became some painter's happiest inspiration, And barren wives and burning virgins came To drink the pure cold water of their wells, And wish for beaux and children in their name. XIX. The Waters Poet, oracle, and wit Like unsuccessful anglers by The ponds of apperception sit, Baiting with the wrong request The vectors of their interest, At nightfall tell the angler's lie. With time in tempest everywhere, To rafts of frail assumption cling The saintly and the insincere; Enraged phenomena bear down In overwhelming waves to drown Both sufferer and suffering. The waters long to hear our question put Which would release their longed-for answer, but. XX. The Garden Within these gates all opening begins: White shouts and flickers through its green and red, Where children play at seven earnest sins And dogs believe their tall conditions dead. Here adolescence into number breaks The perfect circle time can draw on stone, And flesh forgives division as it makes Another's moment of consent its own. All journeys die here: wish and weight are lifted: Where often round some old maid's desolation Roses have flung their glory like a cloak, The gaunt and great, the famed for conversation Blushed in the stare of evening as they spoke And felt their centre of volition shifted.
09 Aug 2008	morula	hi there, i can t really remember where i stoped in my story, i meant to write how i jumped off a balcony from the 3rd floor, i wouldn t know the exact reasons why i did that this is why I told you about the lesbian, so many things pissed me off that night, I was growing more and more nasty you know, the priest later told me I had this great plant that had grown in my chest, he said I lacked oxygene because the plant was taking all the space in my lungs, like it had become more and more difficult for me to breathe, he gave me this book to read too I remember the end, three little mice that march into a cat's mouth, holly fun that book i wonder if you d help me tell me what s the title, and who wrote it, I read 100 times the suicide of the little mouse, but i skipped most passages, I hate romances on TV anyway, i m a natural born hater, my aunt called me evil many times, only the priest made it sound all different telling me of the plant, the girl in the book had a waterlily inside her, I m not sure why hers had started growing, from all I know she committed no sin, the alien in my body was definitely put there for purposes of equity, I thought about the plant, my friend agreed I deserved it, now i m drifting away I meant to write how i jumped from that building, later I drove against a tree and cut open my veins but I m not so proud about those suicides, they suck, I never reached the state of bliss and happiness of flying down that building, the moment before I was choking with disgust, hate was like a poison in my body, I talked to a philosopher that night he was drunk and babbling in ancient greek, I heard him describe exactly how it felt inside me, I was gutted he knew about it, he called that a slave s moral, because it rises from resent, that guy was a professor of philosophy but he was drunk all over, and telling things he d never say normally, how humans are not equal, how they will be rewarded according to the inside of their brains, and some of them were slaves and others were masters, and the homicidal bitch I said, who comes down in every kitchen to determine who will serve and who will eat, I said that like I d been thinking about it, but i was quoting a poet i d heard before, I was only firing some guns at his face for the fun, but i knew he was right in was he said, it all depends on the quantity of resent, how much you ve born with, how much you grow over the years, how much circulates in your fluids, resent makes you despicable, i agreed as a matter of fact I could not contradict him, resent is the lowest emotion, and ugly too and despicable I know, they later called it a "plant", the priest told my mother, like I was human after all now i d listened to all that crap in silence and i d become rather angry in effect, a doctor i met at the hospital diagnosed me paranoid, i had not told him all the details though, and how and why i felt like flying, I swear I felt genuine happiness, that s why i never talk about it, noone would understand it was more than relief I swear the pain had no more importance I was cured and purified, all the hate and anger and resent inside me, and most of all DISGUST no longer ached, the fall lasted no more than 10 seconds, SUICIDE HURTS PEOPLE, SEE THAT BRUISE ON MY WRIST IT HURTS AS MUCH AS MOSQUITO BITES AT LEAST NOW I LOST MY POINT I M SORRY my email is junglevanina771@hotmail.com not the one i entered in the previous message
29 May 2008	Karenina	The best way is to sell yourself to a psicotic pedophile with AIDS. Just my guess. I tried pills and it didn't work, so it can't be worse if you really don't mind dying :D
08 May 2007	philimeneski	So I've recently read a few articles about the surge of suicide clubs in Japan. It seems kinda reasonable to me. How much easier would suicide be if you had someone to die with? If you didn't have to die alone.
02 Apr 2007	mike J	If anyone knows pain, it's me. Growing in the harsh streets of west philadelfia born and raised On the playground where I spent most of my days Chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool And all shooting some b-ball outside of the school When a couple of guys said "we’re up in no good" Started making trouble in my neighbourhood I got in one little fight and my mom got scared And said "you’re moving with your auntie and uncle in bel-air" I whistled for a cab and when it came near the Licensplate said "fresh" and had a dice in the mirror If anything I could say that this cab was rare But I thought now forget it, yo home to bel-air I pulled up to a house about seven or eight And I yelled to the cabby "yo, home smell you later" Looked at my kingdom I was finally there To sit on my throne as the prince of bel-air
24 Nov 2006	Legna	Jump! Take some poison! Go to Iraq! Before you know it, it will be over, but why would anyone kill themselves? This is a very interesting philosophical question and it may vary from person to person with no agreement. Life is beautiful. Struggles are part of life. As we toil on this beautiful Earth of ours, we sometimes wonder why there are struggles, but it is on fact these struggles that create life. You may wonder where all of these struggles will lead humanity, but there is a product in the end. if you struggle with out Lord Jesus Christ, your life will end with sucess. Even if you struggled with an addiction, starvation, povertyof any kind, the Lord is powerful and will save humanity in the end if it stays anchored to Him. If you want to commit suicide, I don't blame you, but there is more than one way to do this. Destroy your present life, and find one in Jesus. This is the best way to help heal the world and free it from its struggles. You want a suicide kit eh? Put the Holy Bible in a beautiful box and shut it.
20 Nov 2006	Stef	the best way to commit suicide when you are under 13...gass, definitely easy. or overdose of sleeping pills. but don't try it...unless you have a deadly disease bound to take you down slowly. there's no glory in suicide, just as there is no glory in dying of cancer...
23 May 2006	phil	i am 12 years old and i have tried many ways to kill myself. i have jumped off of my house, slit my wrists, am anorexic, belimic, i have lit myself on fire, shot myself, smoked drugs, taken pills like benydrl over 90 super strength and got my stomic pumped. i have secsessfully hund myself. like other kids on this website i have died and came back. hell is not exactly the best place i have ever been. i havent stopped doing all of these but i have slowed down. i havent cut in 1 days but 10 days ago i went to the hospital and died but cam back. i have died and came back atlest 7 times. i drilled a hole in my knee because a girl said no when i rejected her. i use a mashedi to cut myself and sometimes over react. one of the times i died i went to heaven and saw my friends mom and my grandparents. just because i havent stoped doesnt mean that u should do it eather people stop felling like ur fat because i have been thru the same thing i started anerexia when i was only 98 pounds and though i was fat stop doing this stuff to urself i slowed down because people said they loved me. i dont really think thats true
13 May 2006	yourgivingmeaheadachewhenyour..	What is out there... a universe of compelling characters just waiting to shake your hand and see you off into your own little corner of understanding? People dont know. Your a faggot for being part of this race. I've got a funny secret. Its called philosophy and its true that if you were to ask 10 different people what they thought life was about, no one would have the same answer. You see, you live on a stage with puppets all around you, and you are the only one with a concious. You are the only one who can think. Now, imagine, how can you relate to these blocks of wood if your made of something more and the jibber they seem to speak to you is meaningless and undeniably a big lie? Therapists. They're just top examples of these human ghosts. They understand you too well, dont you agree? Even I. I'm an anomaly to you,just another random. i dont even understand you. But to be a saint for a moment, you can understand yourself. Pain is just an internal reaction to an external force. What your really feeling comes from an internal force with an internal reaction. If you want to be dead so bad, you'd already be dead and the real world, that which is made up of feelings and thoughts, wouldn't have stopped you. YourLifeIsAWaste...LoveTheCountess
12 May 2006	Suky	Darkly her footsteps fall, so far away from the light. Consciousness is a dream, nothing to be afraid of. The real fear lies not within but without, as those bloodthirsty scavengers pick away at your soul. Slipping in and out of the physical world; this is all that is left, an empty chalice, sound without thought, voice without mind. Meanwhile those deathly pale figure flit about, as those when one meets death, or when deluded by those nightmares as sleep overcomes you. Am I making my point clear? Reality is something to be despised. Hide in your inner world that separates you from it. This is how I live every day. Feel free to add me.
25 Apr 2006	Melissa sky	hi!!!i've posted something here b4 im melissa sky and let me tell u ya all just have 2 get a shrink it works i've got a shrink and im doing much better i do not want 2 die im seeing life 4 what it really is and it is not worth it dont do it u bolive it or not u have people that love u and will be soooooooo hurt if u do it just do aint notthing worth it nothing just talk 2 some 1 and if u were like me and didn't have i write 2 me my email addres is rican_grly_19@yahoo.com or DaTpHiLlYdImE@MSN.COM PLEASE HIT ME UP B4 U DO ANYTHING OKAY GOD LOVES AND SO DO I EVEN DO I DONT KNOW U OKAY PLEASE WRITE TO ME LOVE YA MELISSA SKY!!!
22 Apr 2006	Travis	Why does everyone put themselves in pain? Hello a gun would be fast and painless? perhaps maybe?? mmm yea i think it would be..
21 Apr 2006	Travis	Aww well im 16 soon to be 17, i can drive i thought of turning the wheel right into a 18 wheeler. but didnt couse i might still be alive. but one way i thought just today i was close from goin into the gun cabnet and grabing my 270 deer rifle and ending it all.. just like kurt i want to exape the truth and the reality of live and whats ahead of me. and also i just feel im no one i feel alone all the time. now im not what you would call ugly but im not "hot" either. some say i am i find it very flattering but i hate it. Fakes piss me off. BUSH AND HOW THIS WORLD IS GOIN DOWN THE SHITTER! hello where gunna die of bird flu sooner or later.. thats just my opinion.. and anit depressants dont work they make you worse.. trust me!

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