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?
05 Nov 2008	Bubble Bop	lol ive taken 3 bottles of sleeping pills sucky part is it almost work but then my damned bf had to fuck it up by calling the ambulance
04 Nov 2008	that girl whose mom just couldnt be proud	i was about to kill myself my mom wasnt proud of addiction but i couldnt stop so i dicided to end her suffering, end my life was my soultion. still is. but my mother walked in. i had the gun held against head. was about to shoot but heard my mother cryig begging me to stop.
02 Nov 2008	Kuborion	I have no actual reason to live, I live just for fun. To hear another one of my friend's clever remarks, to see another episode of our school's little own drama, to watch America's economy fall down... God, sometimes I even believe this bullshit.
30 Oct 2008	Kuborion	Sweetest of all lies One of everlasting life No one wants to die But we do, so we hide What you fail to realize Is there's no need to fear You live on in the hearts and minds Of those who hold you dear, who are right here
29 Oct 2008	No one special	Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
27 Oct 2008	gegerald	pour moi, c'est simple, tout est programmé. ma femme me quitte avec mon fils le 03/01/2009(elle rentre dans un appart). le 17/03/2009 mon assurance vie valide pour le suicide a la matmut aura 1 an et 1 jour. mon fils a ses 18 ans aura 90000 euros. moi le 18/03/2009, je prends un cocktail d'anxiolitique et cachet pour dormir alcoolisés au wisky. et vu que je n'ai plus de famille, je suis seul au monde,personne pour me trouver. mais mon suicide sera en live sur mon site internet fait specialement a cet effet. je donnerai plus d'indications sur les divers forums pour ceux qui veulent suivre un suicide en live. je pense que ce sera 5 euros sur un compte en paypal sur un compte bloqué destiné a mon fils toujours a ses 18 ans. CAR JE PENSE QU'ON IRA TOUS AU PARADIS CAR C'ESR ICI L'ENFER! Mieux vaut partir en laissant quelque chose a ceux qu'on aime. Le seul etre vivant que j'aime et a qui je penserai ce jour la c'est mon fils qui n'a jamais demander a venir sur cette terre pour voir ses parents se dechirer. a bientot pour plus de details.
26 Oct 2008	Nancy	Ah, tis almost winter. The most beautiful season of all. It makes me want to live, to love. To laugh. To dance. If you must die, wait until the spring.
25 Oct 2008	Mouchette's Lover=/	Hello. I have been obsessed with this 30-40 year old they call "Mouchette" for a very long time. I know who she is now. I have realized where she lives. I would have never guessed a woman like this would try to commit suicide at the ripe age of 30. Yes she's not a 13 year old girl. But, I still love you.
24 Oct 2008	flanker	On Oct 23, 2008, Carly Jackson Hawkes wrote, "but how shit will it be for your family if you do this? i lost a friend through suicidewhen i was in my teens and i was clinically depressed because of it." That must have been so tough for you to be clinically depressed bc someone else died. Imagine how the person who committed suicide felt. It's just another selfish argument against suicide. "Stay alive bc if you kill yourself, other people will feel sad". Maybe even a small fraction as bad as a suicidal person feels. Now that would just be the worst.
24 Oct 2008	james faw	suicide is not a bad way to handle things.ive considered it before.people talk about how you will make your family sad and how your depriving the world of things that you might accomplish but the way i see it, i didnt ask to be born and i didnt ask to be born into the lowlife family i was born into.i hate my family and i hate myself.ive spent most of my life thinking about what it really means to hate something and i hate everything.the only reason i havent already killed myself is because im a coward.im afraid of the little bit of pain that might come with slitting my throat or my wrists or poisoning myself.basicly what im trying to say is there are a few drawbacks to suicide but at least you wont have to worry about anything anymore.you might go to hell afterwards but sometimes i think im already there.i have tried to overdose on a bottle of pain pills before but i puked it back up.as far as im concerned thats probably the best way to kill yourself
24 Oct 2008		today at 6pm is going to be the last time i will be alive. i am gonna slit my wrists really deep and bleed to death. i will leave my pet with food and water for enough to get through of a week to 2 weeks outside so it doesnt have to watch with a note to whoever finds me where i want it to go. i will leave one last email to the one person thatt makes me feel like life is worth it tonight at 5:45pm. After 6pm on the dot tonight I will be on my way to the other world. im done with this misery.
24 Oct 2008	Dave	what the fuck is this web site about? Is this for real? tell me, and I'll tell you my story
22 Oct 2008	lonely again	i loved him and he pushed me away, i shared things and he walked all over me. now once again i have nobody!
19 Oct 2008	Uukkyy	Take some of mummy's pills you find in the medicine cabnet. Overdose and go to sleep. Relax. Let the pills work. Make sure you tell all the people that care for you that you love them and thanks for everything thy have done. Jst a shame it wasn't enough I guess.
18 Oct 2008	Jebediah Hussein	No matter what the age, narcotic overdose is preferred. Painless, even fun! Woot!!!
18 Oct 2008	time to ride, time to die	when i kill myself i dont want to be rememberedi just want to leave pain in EVERYONE'S life for the hell they put me through!!!!
16 Oct 2008	Kuborion	Bye-bye, baby, Don't be long. I worry about you While you're gone...
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.
13 Oct 2008	Christmas Jones	Kurt Vonnegut put it best, "No damn cat, no damn cradle." In other words everything is fucking absurd. I mean have you looked at the debt lately, 10 trillion fucking dollars, the giant sign that is supposed to keep track of the debt doesn't even have enough spaces for that number. Everything is absurd. Suicide is a fine idea these days, I just hope everything is not as absurd on the other side. Is heaven in a bloody recession too!?!
13 Oct 2008	P.Beatriz	With everything thats going on i just cant deal with it

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