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“People do not die from suicide: they die from sadness.” -Anonymous Chapter 1 How I Began My Journey Into Suicide I   have   looked   into   the   abyss   and   fell   head-first   into   the   darkness.   I   was surrounded   by   darkness.   I   had   no   voice.   I   was   very   shy   and   couldn’t speak   out   loud.   I   would   hide   whenever   I   could,   and   not   let   anyone   near. I lived in solitude, in a world of my own. It   all   started   when   I   was   just   four   years   old.   I   had   this   small   pain   in   my chest   that   wouldn’t   go   away.   I   don’t   know   when   it   started   but   it   never stopped.   It   was   a   hurting   that   started   out   small   then   it   kept   getting bigger   and   bigger.   It   was   a   pain   that   felt   like   I   had   an   open   wound   that was   ugly   and   nasty   and   no   one   could   see   it.   I   thought   someone   would notice   but   no   one   ever   said   anything   about   it.   No   one   would   help   it   or try   to   make   me   feel   better.   So   I   thought   if   could   just   die,   the   pain   would go   away.   I   needed   a   way   to   stop   the   pain.   I   wasn’t   sure   how,   it   just needed to stop. I   was   out   in   the   yard   with   my   sister.   We   were   running   when   we   ran   by the   water   meter   plate   and   spotted   some   mushrooms   growing.   My   sister thought   we   could   eat   them,   but   went   inside   to   ask   our   mother   if   we could.   I   just   stood   there   looking   at   them   while   she   was   gone.   I   didn’t really   like   mushrooms   so   it   wasn’t   important   to   me.   She   came   running back   and   said,   “Mom   said   don’t   touch   them   they   are   very   poisonous.” The    minute    I    heard    that    I    shouldn’t    eat    them    because    they    were poisonous,   I   knew   I   had   found   my   way   out.   I   sat   down   in   front   of   them and   deliberately   ate   about   five   Death   Angel   mushrooms   that   day.   You see,   even   at   that   young   age   I   had   made   up   my   mind   that   dying   was better   than   living.   In   my   very   young   mind   I   could   only   feel   the   pain   and felt   I   had   no   one   to   help.   The   way   I   got   to   that   point   was   there   were things    happening    in    my    life    that    at    four    years    old    I    had    no    way    of reasoning   as   to   why   or   how   to   escape   it.   To   this   day   I   cannot   figure   out how   a   small   child   being   rushed   to   the   emergency   room   because   they deliberately   tried   to   kill   themselves   could   be   an   accident.   The   doctor didn’t   even   say   a   word.   No   one   ever   looked   into   it.   They   just   pumped my   stomach,   kept   me   over   night   for   observation,   and   then   sent   me home.   I   remember   my   mother   saying   when   she   got   the   bill,   that   I   didn’t need   to   be   costing   them   any   money.   She   also   told   me   that   I   should   feel very   bad   about   making   them   have   to   pay   for   it.   That   really   stuck   with me. I   continued   on   in   my   life   shrinking   farther   and   farther   into   the   abyss.   I became   very   introverted   and   mute.   I   wouldn’t   speak   to   anyone   unless   I absolutely   had   to.   I   had   become   one   of   the   invisible   people.   I   hid   in crowds   and   no   one   saw   me.   I   lived   my   life   this   way   and   fought   the   pain that   was   getting   bigger   and   bigger.   I   was   ill   a   lot   and   had   a   lot   of   fainting spells.   Soon   we   moved   to   a   new   state   closer   to   many   of   my   relatives.   To my   dismay   it   soon   became   apparent   that   I   was   going   to   be   the   topic   of   a lot   of   discussions,   whether   I   wanted   to   or   not.   It   ended   up   opening   the door to what was to come. Many   years   later   at   the   age   of   ten   I   tried   it   again.   One   of   my   relatives came   over   to   get   some   wild   poke   salad   that   was   growing   in   our   yard.   Up until   that   moment   I   had   never   heard   of   it.   Maybe   my   parents   didn’t want   me   to   know   there   was   something   lethal   growing   just   a   few   yards from   my   house.   Anyway,   I   had   not   been   paying   attention   until   this   had come   up   after   they   arrived.   I   listened   very   carefully   to   what   was   being said   about   it.   Then   it   dawned   on   me   again.   A   way   out.   Mind   you   nothing had   happened   to   improve   my   situation.   I   was   still   living   in   hell   and didn’t   know   how   to   change   it.   I   asked   what   it   was   and   they   told   me   if you   didn’t   cook   it   first   it   was   very   poisonous.   I   asked   if   I   could   help   and they   said   yes,   that   I   could   help   in   picking   it.   I   went   outside   with   them and   helped   to   pull   the   leaves   off   the   plant.   Of   course,   when   their   backs were   turned   I   hid   the   largest   leaf   I   could   find.   It   was   12   inches   long.   As they   went   back   into   the   house   I   hung   outside   and   waited   for   them   to get   busy   cooking   in   the   house.   Then   I   washed   the   leaf   in   the   hose   to   get rid   of   the   dirt   and   started   eating   the   leaf.   It   was   bitter   if   I   remember right   and   didn’t   go   down   smoothly.   I   was   able   to   finish   the   whole   leaf and   go   into   the   house   and   into   my   room.   I   laid   down   on   the   bed   and don’t    remember    much    from    there.    The    only    thing    I    remember    is throwing   up   on   the   bed   and   my   mother   running   in   and   moving   me   to the   bathroom.   She   asked   me   if   I   had   eaten   too   much   poke   salad,   I   said no,   but   she   knew   something   had   happened   by   how   sick   I   was.   Then   she began   to   pour   large   quantities   of   water   down   my   throat   to   make   me vomit.   This   went   on   for   several   hours   and   I   remember   passing   out,   then coming   to   several   times.      It   is   my   guess   that   my   parents   didn’t   want   to take   me   to   the   hospital   again   to   raise   suspicion   that   there   had   to   be something going on. I   don’t   remember   how   long   exactly   it   took   for   me   to   get   on   my   feet again   after   that,   but   I   just   know   it   was   a   long   time.   Then,   I   had   to   live with   the   fact   that   I   failed   and   had   every   one   in   the   immediate   and extended   family   called   me   “the   crazy   one.”   The   pain   just   got   bigger.   I can’t   understand   why   they   couldn’t   see   that   I   was   in   pain.   Or   they couldn’t    see    the    gaping    wound.    Not    one    person,    not    teachers,    not relatives,   or   anyone   ever   bothered   to   find   out   what   was   wrong.   That just   furthered   my   belief   that   I   was   only   going   to   sink   into   oblivion,   never to   be   seen   again.   I   started   to   try   to   push   the   pain   down,   to   try   to   stamp it   out,   but   to   no   avail.   I   did   my   best   to   be   dead   inside,   to   try   to   run   from the pain.
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An excerpt from the book, “ The Silent Suicide ” Purchase the book here  in formats for Kindle, Nook, and in PDF format.