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?
01 Mar 2010	Messenger	Ending your life will not be the end of the road! It will be the beginning of an eternal suffering that you cannot even begin to imagine. There is an internal being inside of each of us called the spirit and this being is eternal. If you kill yourself now your inner man will instantly transition into hell. Before God suicide is a SIN and if you die through suicide you die in sin, and you will suffer the concequence of eternal condemnation. That's the bad news, but yje good news is that no matter what you're going through God can and will in the name of Jesus Christ. Jesus? Yeah Jesus, only through the name of Jesus can God really connect with humanity. Pray in the name of Jesus and ask God the father to reveal himself to you through his Holy Spirit. He will do it and everything (all the pain, hurt, confusion, and anger) will go away. You have nothing to lose! Trust and give God an oppurtunity so you can recieve his love.
16 Feb 2010	Kelly	If you hurt so badly, that you want to kill yourself, just remember, it will only be the BEGINNING of ETERNAL TORMENT. Because God punishes the sin of suicide, as well as the sin of rejecting Jesus, by giving you eternal life in HELL, where there is no torment on earth that can ever be as bad. Pain will never stop in HELL. Psychological anguish will never stop in HELL. Regret will never stop in HELL. What ever it is that hurts you now, in life, will be infinitely MORE hurtful in death, because you will be all alone with it, for ETERNITY! Think about that, my dear 'under 13'. It doesn't matter if I care, but I do. What matters is that you need to find a reason to care about yourself. Care about animals, care about the planet, care about your garden, care about a child you don't even know...just care. I must say again, there is NOTHING in this life that can compare to the awful existence that is eternity in hell, and that will be your reward for succeeding in killing yourself. And ETERNITY is a looooooonnnnnnngggggggg, loooooonnnnnggggg time to hurt. Pray this now, "God, please forgive me, send your Holy Spirit to live in me to change me, and give me the Faith to believe in the saving grace of your son, Jesus, amen." Then since you have the internet, google the Bible's book of Romans and read it. It is a wonderful handbook that Paul (once a Christian persecuter named Saul) wrote (with God's inspiration), to his friends. May God bless you and may his Holy Spirit lift your mood and may belief in Jesus give you a reason to keep fighting to stay alive until GOD calls you home. I am as far into the black hole of depression as any of you, because I have had chronic pain 24/7 for the last 11 years, but God's Holy Spirit lives in me and gives me the strength not to give up. H.S is strong and will be YOUR strength too! Please believe my words. I only came upon this site by accident, but I'm sure it was for a reason.
06 Oct 2009	my name is not important	im 15 years old. All i can say is you should not because the christian bible says so. that is why you shouldnt. that is my only reason why you shouldnt... i have thought about suicide not because of my unimportance but me not having the power to change anything. to help anyone. I think i can help other people with there problems and stuff but i cant.wrote this is in depth because i am manic i know how it feels and i want to say i will help you but what can i do?die instead. all i have is God. all i can say is GOD. all you can do is pray, find God, and live for hope. please dont kill yourself if your still alive. i cant help the dead.
10 Sep 2009	Helen	kill the evil inside of you. ask Jesus Christ to fill you with hope and love. All other will fail you, parents, teachers, friends, family, even the family pet. But Christ if you let him fill you with hope will save you, maybe not all things will be great or even good, but you will have a better chance at living
04 Sep 2009	Christmas	Most, important year of school, everyone I talk to is crazy. The people who run my school are absolutely mad, I don't get it. The brief sections of empty dialogue I go through daily, may be all I have. Wine and cigarettes, didn't work, as if I fell endless thirst. I can't explain much, sorry. It's just. . . I don't know, there is this girl who wonders around amongst all the crazy people who don't exist, I really want to say something to her... She's three years late it feels. . . God, Mouchette why can't I talk to her? I'm going to try again tomorrow, every time I see her face lingering someone to long I'm just breathless though. Everything feels so lifeless these days. . .
28 Aug 2009	jen	I'd love to tell all of you to pray to God crack open a bible he will talk to you ask him and you will receive but above all please do what he said - worry not for the day for the day is ANXIOUS for itself - did you know worry is a sin? Did you know that God wants you to pray for christ and his return in your prayers striving together as one? He wants us all to be saved. Please find God -
05 Jun 2009	christmas	How do you pay the rent with this Mouchette? I mean, Really. Talking about Lucy's breasts is all fine and dandy, but I don't feel like it's a recession proof business.
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.
28 Feb 2009	Chrismas jones collective	This is typical mouchellette, You've had me possesse since a little boy, please...
23 Feb 2009	Christmas jones	I'm not sure that I live here anymore...
23 Feb 2009	christmas jones	I doubt that tonight will be different, so I once again shall skip out and not answer your originaly asked question mouchette. I feel like the whole cities being constructed ontop of me. Like all the filthy ad space and electric lighting are engulfing me. I hate to talk like this but my reccent thoughts are blurry and confusing and only lead up to cliché descriptions like that. I just hate waking up feeling so shitty from this. And my memmories, they're slipping, I'm in and out of day dreams and there are so many loose ends in my head. If someone asked me how my weekend was, tommorow, I don't think I'd know what to say. I'm emptying out of responces to the real world... and everything is becoming more and more orwellian amd surreal. I cant help but try to burst out with emotion, just to see if i have any left... maybe this fever will overcome me and I'll get to sleep sound through these confusing weather patterns.
10 Feb 2009	Amon	Become a born-again Christian. It's not suicide exactly, but you won't be living your life, that's for damned sure.
04 Jan 2009	spookypenguin	Bob Dylan - not my words, but my prospective. Christmas Jonnes - When i feel like the whitey asshole i am. the poets entourage - I cringe at my own idealism death - fun times Spooky Penguin - me
18 Dec 2008	Aureus	Dear Mouchette, All I want for Christmas is exsanguination. Sincerely, me.
11 Dec 2008	Christmas Jones	So I lay down a while And I gaze at my hotel wall Oh the cot is so cold It don't feel like no bed at all Yeah I lay down a while And I gaze at my hotel wall But he's down on the street So I throw both his bags down the hall And I'm phoning a cab 'Cause my stomach feels small There's a taste in my mouth And it's no taste at all It could have been me Oh yeah, it could have been me Why didn't I say, Why didn't I say, no, no, no
08 Dec 2008	Kuborion	Girl of sixteen Whole life ahead of her Slashed her wrists Bored with life Didn't succeed Thank the Lord For small mercies Fighting back the tears Mother reads the note again Sixteen candles burn in her mind She takes the blame It's always the same She goes down on her knees and prays I don't want to start Any blasphemous rumours But I think that God's Got a sick sense of humour And when I die I expect to find Him laughing Girl of eighteen Fell in love with everything Found new life In Jesus Christ Hit by a car Ended up On a life support machine Summer's day As she passed away Birds were singing In the summer sky Then came the rain And once again A tear fell From her mother's eye I don't want to start Any blasphemous rumours But I think that God's Got a sick sense of humour And when I die I expect to find Him laughing
03 Dec 2008	Chris	when you try so hard and so long without success, when you can not sleep st night and the pain is crushing you. When there is nobody who undderstands you and the ones you talk to laugh at you. When people tell you "thats the stupiest thing to do". When you are 30 and you never felt love in your life - neither to give nor to take. When everything around you annoys you. When you wear a mask in front of everyone to keep your job and not to be thrown in an mental institute, because nobody understands you. When you are different and you cant say why. When nothing that you ever do really is fun. When youu cant remember the last time that you laughed. When you keep crying at night and there is nobody to care for you. When loneliness is the way of life. When you are too ugly and no girl considers you... When all hope is gone and despite waiting big time, it doesnt feel better. When you dont believe in miracles any longer.... all that is me. And dont you dare telling me that I dont have right for it!
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!?!

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