At school, down the street, across a bridge, in a building, inside a tunnel, up a tree - I see suicide everywhere I go. I have begun searching buildings in the city with roof access (and found one that may work). When crossing the bridge, I stare down into the water and contemplate death - lungs burning, face pale, closed throat, and the annoying habit of self-preservation. Everywhere I go. Ironic that until this moment SI'ing had not occurred to me as an option. Too difficult, I guess. I would have to maintain a very steady hand, and have the courage to press deeper every second. The mess the survivors would be obligated to clean; but that's with every method, I suppose. 
To reach out for help would only land me in the psychiatric hospital. Don't wish to go there again. Or as last time, three police men would knock on the door and demand I explain my desire to die. Don't want that either. 
6:07 pm and all I want to do is sleep.

Hello all,

I have avoided this site for many months now fearing that I will be tempted to SI upon signing in. It has been, well, I don't know how much time since I last SI'd, and truthfully, I do not wish to find out. The fewer the days, the weaker the temptation. Each time my eyes come across my scars, I lie to myself, say it has been only a day since I last felt red run down my wrist and legs. I lie to myself to avoid a new wound. Today, however, the urge that so frantically takes hold when I see a sharp object, is not so strong. I feel well enough to encounter this site, along with my old blog entries. I will not go on to read the blogs of others because I think my lies would dissolve quickly and lead me to SI. 
For now, that is all. I hope you are all as well as you can be at this moment. It was nice being back, even if only for a few minutes.

Right there in the parking lot, while waiting for 11am to approach, and listening to music, I shoved all of my thoughts to encompass only one: my Relief. I brought the blade to my skin and a single wound lifted me to euphoria. Suicide Note by Johnette Napolitano was playing in my iPod. The song was enough to trigger a smooth flow of red down my wrist. I was too desperate and didn't realize it until I felt the sharp edge against my skin. I couldn't wait until after mentoring. I couldn't wait until tomorrow. How do I expect to go without it for longer than a month if a week seems eternal? Read more »

-LIstening to: Bleed Like Me by Garbage-

Maybe I'll change, was my thought, because mentoring someone involves one's own consciousness of rights and wrongs. Maybe my mentee will be the person I quit for. I ignored that voice that said, "Change for yourself, not others." I ignored it, which tells me the desire in me to quit is hardly existent. Still, I listened to my hypocritical self, I tend to do that, it doesn't bring the discomfort of trying. But this 12 year old girl seems uninterested in having a mentor, as soon as I saw that in her eyes I threw out my motivation to let go of the blade. If I have no one to stop for, why not continue my SI. Only logical. Only right. 
In this entry prevails satire, hypocricy. Yet, what have I to lose but what already is not mine? 
And I fear that for the rest of my days there will exist no reason to quit. Maybe that's why I cried during therapy today, because I realized that there will forever be a prison to contain me. That must be the reason. Why else?