And engine search: Reasons not to kill myself

I typed in "Reasons not to kill myself" into the Google Search engine and the results that it came up with were appalling. I was truly devastated [To overwhelm; confound; stun] by what I found. Many of the links given were of no use to the reader and the others only furthered my want for death. I hated it. I searched in hopes that perhaps, maybe I would find sanctuary [any place of refuge; asylum] in the words of others. I was wrong. Perhaps I was inept [generally awkward or clumsy; haplessly incompetent] in my search, perhaps I did something wrong. I have no idea. But what I saw filled me with so much hate and anger that I can barely stand it. But that's fine, deep breaths will calm me. Okay. I did, however, find a blog site that did bring me an illusion [something that deceives by producing a false or misleading impression of reality] to comfort and solace [comfort in sorrow, misfortune, or trouble; alleviation of distress or discomfort] in my own skewed reality. It was: http://thebrokenbrain.blogspot.com/2005/05/why-shouldnt-i-just-kill-myself.html

I thought it interesting and even gave my own response to it. Perhaps posting it here will allow you yet another glimpse into my mind.

Um, well... I am actually one of those people who typed into Google, 'Ways to kill myself. Wait, actually I typed in 'Reasons not to kill myself.' I scrolled down and read the comments and I found myself smiling at some of the responses. Not because I felt like killing myself any less... Heh, no. But because I saw that there are people making an honest effort to try and *maybe* make a difference in someone's life. As I went along I felt my smile starting to fade and this time it was because there were people who felt the need to say yes, go kill yourself, I tried to, and so on and so forth. It bothered me that someone would take the time out and write something like that. Um, like they weren't actually someone like me but someone who enjoyed seeing the teen/adult/person suicide rate go up. I can't really explain what I was feeling and I hope that maybe someone sees, perhaps, what I was.
Aside from that nothing anyone said here will make me stop from killing myself. I mean that's inevitable, but perhaps it has made me postpone my death. It took me so long to read it that by the time I was done my family was on their way home. Imagine that... But yes. So I'll say this to all the other suicidal teens out there:

Waiting isn't such a bad idea. If you're floundering and drowning in your own misery and you want to curl up into yourself for a bit longer go and do that. Make sure, make absolutely sure that death is the one thing that you want and not something that you *think* you want. I know for me it's something that I've been waiting for. I've tried, believe me and I'll try again because apparently the guy upstairs, if he's home, didn't want me to visit just yet and neither did the Shining Star below. So give it a bit of time and if you're really in that much pain take the knife and take the pills and do what you got to do. But remember, do it only if you really have to.

I noticed that I perhaps type and sound differently, depending. I have no idea why that is. Maybe this blog, my every own blog that is, gives me a different vibe [A vibration. Often used in the plural: a nostalgic vibe to the decor; a stranger who gave off bad vibes] and therefore I present a different voice to address that. I have no idea. I'm lost on most things usually.

In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king

So, today one of my close but abhorrent (causing repugnance; detestable; loathsome: an abhorrent deed) friends was banned from ever stepping foot onto St. Joseph's premises. Something about a gift shop storage room and unlocked doors. Also, for some odd reason, the elevators go from one to five. There's no two, three, or four. Maintenence... Second floor, though the other two floors purpose... They allude me. Another time and another place to ponder the use of the St. Joe's floors. I think it's almost time for me to severe (to break off or dissolve (ties, relations, etc.)) my contact with my friends. Out of selfishness perhaps. I want to inflict more pain onto myself. Into myself. if I cannot do so physically, it is only fitting that I torture myself emotionally.

[Ah, how pathetic.]

[Feel sorry for yourself yet?]

[Stupid, so stupid.]

[Only ever thinking of yourself.]

[Why not just kill yourself already?]

[Save everyone the pain.]

[The suffering.]

[Selfish.]

[Pathetic.]

[We hate you.]

A conversation that seems to have instilled itself within the confines of my mind. No matter how hard I shake I can't seem to dislodge the thoughts. A constant mary-go-round in my head.

I Want to Die

I've already tried to extirpate (to remove or destroy totally; do away with; exterminate) myself once, a little over a week ago [I realize it was a short time ago but my parents are careless and they know nothing, they care for only themselves] and evidently I didn't succeed. But there's this deep pulsing desire to take a razor and slit my wrists. I want to watch the blood pour from the gaping mouths and slowly die on the floor of my bedroom. I want to fill my insides with bottles of pills and end myself. To lock myself in a room and fill it with toxic carbon gas and asphyxiate (to cause to die or lose consciousness by impairing normal breathing, as by gas or other noxious agents; choke; suffocate; smother). I want to kill myself slowly and painfully... Looking back on this, I think that I might be crazy.

Drowning in Effexor

I always knew myself to be pusillanimous (lacking courage or resolution; cowardly; faint-hearted; timid) but lately it seems to have taken itself up a few knotches. I'm hiding from everyone and everything. I'm pushing off social engagements and breaking off relatonships just as they get started. It must have something to do with the fact that I wish to terminate (to bring to an end; put an end to) myself. My desire to chop and mutilate my arms has grown with my ardor (intense devotion, eagerness, or enthusiasm; zeal: his well-known ardor for Chinese art) of annihilation and I'm losing more and more control as the days drag on. We'll just see in the end if I'm strong enough to endure my spurious (not genuine, authentic, or true; not from the claimed, pretended, or proper source; counterfeit) travesties.

Tuesday of Seven and an A.

Welcome to the land of dementia. (Deterioration of intellectual faculties, such as memory, concentration, and judgment, resulting from an organic disease or a disorder of the brain. It is sometimes accompanied by emotional disturbance and personality changes.) My brother still hasn't come back [although I never expected him to] and my Step Father is still on a wild rampage throwing everything in boxes and buckets.