I dont threaten suicide. In the moment I always mean it. Every waking second of every waking moment I wish I wasn’t alive. But I keep pushing because I rationalize it. The people I’d hurt. And after the rationelle people have given me I’m sure they’ll heal. If given the chance to break their own bone, or let me die. Each and every friend chose to let me die. Sighting that they could easily get over my death and while it would hurt, the pain would numb. But if they broke their arm the pain/arm problems would be there forever. I didn’t actually intend this to be a suicide related question. But the responses I’ve been given are comforting. There’s also the problems it’d cause, legal documents, paperwork. Costly things really. I don’t care though. That would probably fall on my parents. I don’t care. The only person in the world I’m concerned about that can’t recover is my grandmother. If she passes, I don’t think I will have any reason not to. But really, more than anything, it’s the preparation it takes that usually diswades me. The effort it takes for me to kill myself is so much. And the possibility that I live, but I’m stunted, or have brain damage, and can’t try to die again is horrible. Imagine life stuck to a hospital bed for the rest of your life. Somehow the personal hell you’ve been living in would get worse. But monitored by everyone. There’d be no escape. Ever. There’d be no going back to a time before your arms worked, your legs worked. Maybe you’d go deaf, or mute. And never enjoy the very few frivolities you had left. The things my able body can do are not enough to keep me living, I have nothing I look forward to enough to dissuade me from death. But imagine the unending suffering without any of those things, the sheer agony of life already not worth living, but now with the extra garnish of nothingness. That’s the only fear I have. If I can only find a surefire death. I believe I could do it. My family thinks that I won’t do it. Clearly. And have stopped trying to comfort me. I don’t think they ever made an attempt to begin with. I’ve been put in countless kinds of therapy and a dozen medications, but that was all just something they’d pay for and send me off to do. The love and comfort I so desperately craved was never there. Never was there a warm hug to wait for me when I ran to my father crying, crying that I wanted to die. Only strict talking to and threats of hospitalization were left for me. “If you’re really gonna act like that then you need to be there.” he’d yell, when all i really ever wanted was a hug. Mother stood by. Agreed with him. Never stepped in even when I was scratching my skin bleeding. No hugs awaited me if I was being a problem. They’ve always been angry at that idea of me being suicidal when I bring it up. I’ve told my mother I’m not going to eat anymore and will be starving myself to death an hour ago. Not a word has been spoken to me. It’s not a cry for help. On some level I’m grateful because it makes things so much easier. I probably wont starve myself but i think that i’ll kill myself soon.