I couldn’t believe it when I opened my eyes twelve hours later. I vomited repeatedly, then I got angry because I WAS NOT DEAD. And because I’d managed to fuck up my suicide, just like everything else. I realized why people jump off buildings, shoot themselves, drive into a semi, or point a gun at cops.
So now I sit in my room two days later, crying my eyes out, drowning in sadness, more hopeless than ever and wonder—now what?
Read the rest of this post, and chime in with the commenters encouraging this person that he/she (and you) are worthwhile, and very necessary to the rest of us. And feel free to drop off your own confession or rant in the I, Anonymous Blog—where getting real is always welcome.