Hi, I'm nick, 22y/o gay man, I was browsing thru your site, and I read the suicide not! section. I was kinda affected, cos I've been thru that, so I wrote my story... as I say: i dunno if it's worth anything, but it's my story anyway. if you think it can help someone, or whatever, you can post it up. I want to tell you my story of suicide. Not that I think it's such a great story it will inspire you not to do it if you're contemplating it - I'm not even sure it's worth a shit really - but because I want you to think about a couple of things first, and because it's an honest story. It's as honest a story as I could write it. It is the story of how I used to think at one point that the only way out for me was my feet first, and how I found a way out, indeed, but alive. And if I've discovered happiness in my life, then I'd have to say it is feeling about this particular issue, the way I feel now. Because it's as if I've never lived before, but I am so now. Give me a couple of minutes of your life, and in exchange, I'll try to give you mine, the way it's been so far. When I was a kid, I guess I was the queerest creature you can picture yourself. I was effeminate to the point my own grandparents told my parents I should be seen by specialists. I used to play with dolls, I dressed like girls, I loved flowers, I was stealing my mom's make-up when she went out, all my friends were girls, and whenever I met a boy I liked, I would ask him to let me kiss him. I never had a problem with who I was, and very early on, I had a pretty clear idea of what I was. I was gay and I was happy in stupid innocence.Until my folks were forced into poverty and into the ghetto. I learned quickly that life in the ghetto was very different from our old neighborhood, and that it was a rough place. I was sent to school, and there, I was an alien. I was the only white kid, and the only fag. I was insulted, I was humiliated and I was beaten. Daily. I used to change schools, but in that neighborhood, it was always the same story. When one of my tormentors made it as if he was going to rape me in front of his gang, and I got so angry, I lost all my temper and I broke his nose. That's how I learned to stand my ground and gain respect. I became aggressive and violent. I started building this kind of shell, pretending to be someone I was not. I shaved my head into a mohawk and I started wearing baggy pants with a chain to my pocket, and I started listening to hip hop, and I played the bad boy, laughing at gay jokes with everyone (more than everyone), beating up those weaker than me, and making a lot of noise around those I knew I could not beat up, including teachers. I got myself a terrible reputation (just what I thought I wanted) and I alienated everyone around me. I was a coward, but I didn't care. I didn't want to get beaten and laughed at. However, being the gay I am, I could never really play for the other team either, I could never kiss a girl on her mouth, and I could never do all the small little things that I had to do to "belong". So my whole teenage, in high school, I've always been an outsider, and a loner, and I was very depressed. I knew my parents loved me, but they'd never accept my orientation, and the God of our Church would send me to hell just like every other sodomite. Why, I thought my life was hell enough already. Because I could never be me, I'd put one show with my family, and another in school, where I had no friends. I was so afraid. Basically, that was my whole teenage life. And eventually, the years passed, I graduated, miraculously, and now I was so happy, because I thought I was free. I could finally say bye-bye to my old life, and go to the big city, to the Gay Village. Now, from what I'd read over the Internet, I should have reached paradise: the Village is supposedly every gay man's dream. There, you're free to be yourself, you don't need to pretend, and you can meet all those wonderful people who are just like you, that you can have nice sex and beautiful relationships with. Actually, what I've seen in the Village horrified me. I haven't met anybody who was happy there. And I know the place through and through. I've done all the restaurants, all the bars, all the clubs, all the strip clubs, the saunas, the motels, the support groups, the sports clubs, the PFLAGS (which is the greatest piece of shit, in my opinion), all the peer counseling and all the festivals and parades and all the zoo there is... I found that there's two kinds of people who go there. First, you have the groupies, those for whom Planet Earth begins and stops in the gay village; all that these people live for is the gay scene, and everything that's outside it's not interesting and it does not exist. And then, you have all the invisible people, who only come in the village secretly, to let some steam off, and then, creep back into their discreet and anonymous lives. But all these people I've met were interested in one thing, mainly: meat. Even that stupid PFLAG: there's those who go there to find someone to get laid with, and the others who are depressed because they know they'll never get any, either because they're too wrapped up with their issues, and gays think they're boring, or because they're fat or ugly. I found that in the village, it's not even sex people are looking for: they just use others and then throw them like used kleenexes. And when I think I first went there looking for love! I left one ghetto to fall into another one, which I thought was lame, so I left that place after 2 years of aimlessness. Anyway, I decided it wasn't my thing, so I got out of that place. I decided I was going to come out to my folks, and friends and mates, and workplace. I planned to live up to my own place in the world, you know? I decided to assume, you know? And live my own life, and stop getting any big ideas. So I did. There was lots of shock, surprisingly. And after the shock passed, everyone dear to me drifted off. I was rejected by all those close to me. My family was bad enough, but worse for me was my best friend. I didn't tell you, I had a best friend, a dude who was my life for me, and me for him. We'd been together through a lot, and except my homosexuality, we knew everything about each other. I thought we did. Needless to say, I felt for him, a bit. I guess I was in love with him since the very beginning. And we'd been friends for almost ten years now. So I told him, through a letter. He never talked to me again. It hit me hard, harder than anything. I thought if someone of my close ones who would understand, it would be him. I got into a depression real bad. I was 21 years old and my life stopped for me. I wanted to die. I just wanted to die, and forget everything. Despite all my parents ever tried to do for us when I was little, and they did a lot, my childhood was shit. I went through all the crap though, waiting to be a grown up and to be free. I was hoping I'd find the meaning. And I did grow up, and was disillusioned. There was no medal, there was no prize. There was the village, which I hated, on one hand, and there was the "outer" world, which had rejected me time and again, on the other. I felt alone, lost somewhere in between. I thought there was no point anymore. Everything I was taught to believe in, my religion, my morality, and then my hopes, they all turned to smoke. I tried to get myself checked by three different psychologists, thinking that with their smart trade, they'd cook something up for me, but I guess it was the biggest mistake ever. I don't even want to think about it, I'll just say I don't believe in psychology one bit. If anyone in this world can help you, it is you. Anyway, it's then that it hit me. Only then. And it hit me bad.So I tried to kill myself. Twice. The first time, it was a night, I tried to jump off a building. And the second time, still during the night, I tried to jump in the highway. I was so close to do it, so close I have a chill down my spine every time I recall this. Why did I not do it? I don't know. I still don't know. I just remember I stood there trembling with stress, waiting to do it. But I don't remember much. Today, one year later, I still think about this, and I imagine that somewhere, deep down, I thought it would be just too stupid if it ended up like that. I thought I fought so much - every day had been a fight somehow, and I couldn't just give in. There had to be a way. I am here. I am 22 years old, and I haven't found what I was looking for. And maybe I never will. I guess I was just naive thinking that I'll find that kind of acceptance I always wanted. Unconditional acceptance. And love. Just love. But I found something else, which gives me strength and always makes me smile and be happy. I found that life is tough, and maybe that's all there is to it . But if it is so, then, it's because it makes things so much more interesting. If all I can do is fight, then I'll fight, and I'll give it all I have. Actually, I think there's a certain beauty to it all. You never have anything to lose. Except your life. That's the only thing you have really, and the only thing you can ever lose. So if you have it, then you must protect with all your might, because it's easy to give it up. But fighting for it is not easy. But every little victory is so satisfying. And you know you build something up, something that's solid and that stays and never wavers. It doesn't matter what you think, or what you hope or what you dream. It's what you decide to do. That's all there is. And once you figure out what you really, really want to achieve in your life, you just have to do it. And you might fail, yes, but you may also achieve it! And it's worth a try. You have nothing to lose. It's beautiful trying. It's life, it's rough, it's all there is. So try living, don't try dying. I know I am, and I will be, till I die.
Hi, I'm nick, 22y/o gay man, I was browsing thru your site, and I read the suicide not! section. I was kinda affected, cos I've been thru that, so I wrote my story... as I say: i dunno if it's worth anything, but it's my story anyway. if you think it can help someone, or whatever, you can post it up. I want to tell you my story of suicide. Not that I think it's such a great story it will inspire you not to do it if you're contemplating it - I'm not even sure it's worth a shit really - but because I want you to think about a couple of things first, and because it's an honest story. It's as honest a story as I could write it. It is the story of how I used to think at one point that the only way out for me was my feet first, and how I found a way out, indeed, but alive. And if I've discovered happiness in my life, then I'd have to say it is feeling about this particular issue, the way I feel now. Because it's as if I've never lived before, but I am so now. Give me a couple of minutes of your life, and in exchange, I'll try to give you mine, the way it's been so far. When I was a kid, I guess I was the queerest creature you can picture yourself. I was effeminate to the point my own grandparents told my parents I should be seen by specialists. I used to play with dolls, I dressed like girls, I loved flowers, I was stealing my mom's make-up when she went out, all my friends were girls, and whenever I met a boy I liked, I would ask him to let me kiss him. I never had a problem with who I was, and very early on, I had a pretty clear idea of what I was. I was gay and I was happy in stupid innocence.Until my folks were forced into poverty and into the ghetto. I learned quickly that life in the ghetto was very different from our old neighborhood, and that it was a rough place. I was sent to school, and there, I was an alien. I was the only white kid, and the only fag. I was insulted, I was humiliated and I was beaten. Daily. I used to change schools, but in that neighborhood, it was always the same story. When one of my tormentors made it as if he was going to rape me in front of his gang, and I got so angry, I lost all my temper and I broke his nose. That's how I learned to stand my ground and gain respect. I became aggressive and violent. I started building this kind of shell, pretending to be someone I was not. I shaved my head into a mohawk and I started wearing baggy pants with a chain to my pocket, and I started listening to hip hop, and I played the bad boy, laughing at gay jokes with everyone (more than everyone), beating up those weaker than me, and making a lot of noise around those I knew I could not beat up, including teachers. I got myself a terrible reputation (just what I thought I wanted) and I alienated everyone around me. I was a coward, but I didn't care. I didn't want to get beaten and laughed at. However, being the gay I am, I could never really play for the other team either, I could never kiss a girl on her mouth, and I could never do all the small little things that I had to do to "belong". So my whole teenage, in high school, I've always been an outsider, and a loner, and I was very depressed. I knew my parents loved me, but they'd never accept my orientation, and the God of our Church would send me to hell just like every other sodomite. Why, I thought my life was hell enough already. Because I could never be me, I'd put one show with my family, and another in school, where I had no friends. I was so afraid. Basically, that was my whole teenage life. And eventually, the years passed, I graduated, miraculously, and now I was so happy, because I thought I was free. I could finally say bye-bye to my old life, and go to the big city, to the Gay Village. Now, from what I'd read over the Internet, I should have reached paradise: the Village is supposedly every gay man's dream. There, you're free to be yourself, you don't need to pretend, and you can meet all those wonderful people who are just like you, that you can have nice sex and beautiful relationships with. Actually, what I've seen in the Village horrified me. I haven't met anybody who was happy there. And I know the place through and through. I've done all the restaurants, all the bars, all the clubs, all the strip clubs, the saunas, the motels, the support groups, the sports clubs, the PFLAGS (which is the greatest piece of shit, in my opinion), all the peer counseling and all the festivals and parades and all the zoo there is... I found that there's two kinds of people who go there. First, you have the groupies, those for whom Planet Earth begins and stops in the gay village; all that these people live for is the gay scene, and everything that's outside it's not interesting and it does not exist. And then, you have all the invisible people, who only come in the village secretly, to let some steam off, and then, creep back into their discreet and anonymous lives. But all these people I've met were interested in one thing, mainly: meat. Even that stupid PFLAG: there's those who go there to find someone to get laid with, and the others who are depressed because they know they'll never get any, either because they're too wrapped up with their issues, and gays think they're boring, or because they're fat or ugly. I found that in the village, it's not even sex people are looking for: they just use others and then throw them like used kleenexes. And when I think I first went there looking for love! I left one ghetto to fall into another one, which I thought was lame, so I left that place after 2 years of aimlessness. Anyway, I decided it wasn't my thing, so I got out of that place. I decided I was going to come out to my folks, and friends and mates, and workplace. I planned to live up to my own place in the world, you know? I decided to assume, you know? And live my own life, and stop getting any big ideas. So I did. There was lots of shock, surprisingly. And after the shock passed, everyone dear to me drifted off. I was rejected by all those close to me. My family was bad enough, but worse for me was my best friend. I didn't tell you, I had a best friend, a dude who was my life for me, and me for him. We'd been together through a lot, and except my homosexuality, we knew everything about each other. I thought we did. Needless to say, I felt for him, a bit. I guess I was in love with him since the very beginning. And we'd been friends for almost ten years now. So I told him, through a letter. He never talked to me again. It hit me hard, harder than anything. I thought if someone of my close ones who would understand, it would be him. I got into a depression real bad. I was 21 years old and my life stopped for me. I wanted to die. I just wanted to die, and forget everything. Despite all my parents ever tried to do for us when I was little, and they did a lot, my childhood was shit. I went through all the crap though, waiting to be a grown up and to be free. I was hoping I'd find the meaning. And I did grow up, and was disillusioned. There was no medal, there was no prize. There was the village, which I hated, on one hand, and there was the "outer" world, which had rejected me time and again, on the other. I felt alone, lost somewhere in between. I thought there was no point anymore. Everything I was taught to believe in, my religion, my morality, and then my hopes, they all turned to smoke. I tried to get myself checked by three different psychologists, thinking that with their smart trade, they'd cook something up for me, but I guess it was the biggest mistake ever. I don't even want to think about it, I'll just say I don't believe in psychology one bit. If anyone in this world can help you, it is you. Anyway, it's then that it hit me. Only then. And it hit me bad.So I tried to kill myself. Twice. The first time, it was a night, I tried to jump off a building. And the second time, still during the night, I tried to jump in the highway. I was so close to do it, so close I have a chill down my spine every time I recall this. Why did I not do it? I don't know. I still don't know. I just remember I stood there trembling with stress, waiting to do it. But I don't remember much. Today, one year later, I still think about this, and I imagine that somewhere, deep down, I thought it would be just too stupid if it ended up like that. I thought I fought so much - every day had been a fight somehow, and I couldn't just give in. There had to be a way. I am here. I am 22 years old, and I haven't found what I was looking for. And maybe I never will. I guess I was just naive thinking that I'll find that kind of acceptance I always wanted. Unconditional acceptance. And love. Just love. But I found something else, which gives me strength and always makes me smile and be happy. I found that life is tough, and maybe that's all there is to it . But if it is so, then, it's because it makes things so much more interesting. If all I can do is fight, then I'll fight, and I'll give it all I have. Actually, I think there's a certain beauty to it all. You never have anything to lose. Except your life. That's the only thing you have really, and the only thing you can ever lose. So if you have it, then you must protect with all your might, because it's easy to give it up. But fighting for it is not easy. But every little victory is so satisfying. And you know you build something up, something that's solid and that stays and never wavers. It doesn't matter what you think, or what you hope or what you dream. It's what you decide to do. That's all there is. And once you figure out what you really, really want to achieve in your life, you just have to do it. And you might fail, yes, but you may also achieve it! And it's worth a try. You have nothing to lose. It's beautiful trying. It's life, it's rough, it's all there is. So try living, don't try dying. I know I am, and I will be, till I die.
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