Nine times and counting.

The first time I tried to kill myself, I was fourteen and didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew what I wanted to happen. I took about ten “herbal sleeping enhancers” and expected that to kill me. It’s funny now to think about, but I think the seriousness of my thoughts aren’t so funny. I had already cut myself before, but this was the first year I became addicted to doing it, I did it every single day for about a year. I didn’t know what was going on at the time, but looking back I was definitely experiencing depression for the first time.
Fast forward to me being fifteen – I was upset about a boy rejecting me, so I slit my wrists really deep and hoped to die. I quickly became panicked and rushed to get help from my mum. I went to the emergency room for the first time where they covered my arms and let me speak to a psychiatrist to help clear my head of the bad thoughts.

I didn’t last long before trying again, now sixteen, the same boy hurt me and I couldn’t handle it. I cut my arms to pieces and was caught by my mum who again took me to the emergency room where I received the same treatment as before. I managed to stay in better spirits and deal with my emotions much better, with a few slip ups of course, but no hospital trips for about three years.

Last year, eighteen now, I still self harmed when I needed to, I was experiencing anxiety more often and feeling depressed most of the time but managed to live my life and get by. It wasn’t until the winter season that I hit rock bottom once again. I had to quit my first ever job because I was overwhelmed, I was experiencing new levels of emotions I couldn’t even understand. This is when everything started to go wrong.

2014 has been the worst year of my life. I’ve tried to kill myself seven times – five times with slit wrists, twice with overdoses. I’ve barely managed to go more than a month without trying to die, I’ve met more paramedics and police officers than I can count on two hands, and I’ve never been offered anything to prevent it happening again.
Every time I go to hospital, they deal with my physical pain and wounds, then I see someone to help my mental state out but nothing is ever new. It’s all the same shit being spewed out their mouths, just the same as the last one. They tell me to keep taking my tablets, keep seeing my psychologist and try to get better. I can’t get better when that’s the opposite of what I want. I’m constantly denied access to the local psychiatric hospital for stupid reasons like “You won’t be any safer in there” – as if all the patients are going in and dying, no one has committed suicide in that hospital in literally decades. I want to die so badly and no one cares. I don’t want my life, even for the good things.

The last time I tried to end my life was less than two weeks ago and already I want to try again. I can’t guarantee I’ll be here for my Birthday in January. I’m so serious about death and I will do anything to achieve it.

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