Someone revived this thread, and it reminded me how sad it is that people have stories to tell that the thread is brought back.
My story is not as intense as others, but I'm sure most of you can understand how your own situation seems the worst when you're in it. I feel like sharing, I've been having a shitty couple of weeks.
Towards the end of 2003, I started cutting. I don't remember why really, I know I thought of it because I knew that was a way a friend of mine coped with depression, though nobody thought she was really depressed. It was the beginning of my sophomore year in high school. My parents found out in February of 2004 when I cut and pasted something to post on a Yahoo group, my mom pasted something wrong and got what I wrote instead. I started seeing a social worker, they convinced me to try meds for a little while "just to get the wind back in your sail" (3 years later, still on meds), I hated my social worker and my depression continued to get worse. May 31st, 2004, I decided I would OD on something, I wanted something to change, like maybe someone would find me and I'd wake up days later and everything would be so much better, but I took somewhere around 18 tylenol PMs (lost track around 13), went to bed, and got really scared when my heart started racing. I went downstairs, called 911, woke up my parents, went off to the emergency room in an ambulance. I remember them taking off my clothes, falling asleep, then waking up and being sat up to drink some charcoal, then they shoved a tube through my nose and down my throat, I cried because it hurt, they kept telling me to drink, I finally opened my eyes and saw a straw so I drank some water to help get the tube down. Then I was out again til I was in a room, in a bed, somebody was asking me what happened, i culdn't stay awake, it was somewhere around 2 inthe morning.
The story goes on, people visited, I swore I would never cut again, (that lasted for a couple months, though just recently I cut after not cutting for over a year), I went to a day program at a mental hospital and missed most of the end of my sophomore year in school.
It disgusts me to hear anyone joke about hurting themselves or killing themselves or hear them suggest it to someone else. Obviously they don't understand how unbearable our minds can make everything seem, the human mind is very powerful, and at the same time, fragile.