Why is it that every time I want to die, I feel a sense of serenity? like fate has lit my path and I am making the right decision.
The abnormal calmness that runs through me as I think of my own death, lingers in my mind. I almost feel like a bird that has been set free from a cage.
My emotions run in turmoil. I'm unsure what to call this emotion that appears when I think of closing the curtains on life.
I'm terrified of what I'm capable of.
I know that I have people who love and care for me. I also know that I have people that I love and care for, but... I don't feel any sense of remorse or wrongdoing.
I think when my mind turns dark like this, I just want to drift away like I would if I was in a boat drifting down a river.
If I do ever cut the threads that bind my mind to my body, I hope that I will just fade away. I don't want trouble, I just want nothing.
The first time I felt this way was at the age of 8. Before that age, I only felt lonely, I would flood my face full of fake expressions, and words of encouragement and happiness would spurt out of my mouth.
I never knew how to kill myself until the age of 11; at that age, I romanticized death for the first time. I dressed up in a white kimono and precut a slit around my waist where the knife could easily slice through and pierce into my untainted skin. Unfortunately, I was scared. I was scared of the pain that the blade would inflict.
My second attempt was roughly 2 months after my first. I still remember the date, the 9th of March. This time I didn't dress up. I simply ate dinner with my family before "heading to bed". I took 13 paracetamol tablets and ended up in hospital. My mum held my hand the whole time we were in there. I was throwing up even though I had nothing in my stomach. I felt little remorse, I still don't feel bad. My dad came down to the hospital to see me. I was only in there for a day before I was let out. I took one more day off school as per my mum's request. We didn't really speak about it afterward and everything went back to normal.
On my 3rd attempt, I sat on the floor in my room whilst my wardrobe blocked access in and out through the door. I think I was crying this time while counting all the pills that I would consume. the total was 54. They were my anti-depressants. I feel kind of stupid thinking back on it... anti-depressants were made so they aren't lethal when overdosed. I was 13 when this happened. I once again ended up in hospital but this time there were talks of moving me to a mental hospital so I could be monitored. That didn't end up happening. Instead, I was sent to school the next day and everything went back to 'normal'.
I was really enjoying myself on my 4th attempt. I had found a razor and cut through my skin until a crimson liquid would surface and spill. My wrists, thighs, and fingers were all weeping the blood. I had a friend come over and she was scared, she didn't know what to do. every time she would take something off of me, I would pick another item up. First the razor, second a towel I used to suffocate myself, third I filled up the basin with water and tried drowning myself. I was writing in my notebook using the blood from my own feelings. It was intoxicating. Even now, I imagine the razor slicing through my skin like butter to a warm knife. I miss the sensation. Unfortunately, my fun had to end when my friend called her mum over. It was annoying.
4 months pass and you can find me in the shed with a noose tied to the support beams with my neck resting in its loop. I would occasionally let one foot dangle off the side of the table, other times I would lean over until the rope tightened around my neck. I liked it. My head would go tingly and my eyes would water and roll backward. I felt the pressure building up, almost like my head was about to explode. I still liked the feeling. I don't know what stopped me. I still want to die, I just want to disappear.
I wonder when I will next dance with death?
