Can i kill myself yet?
  • Reads 65
  • Votes 4
  • Parts 1
  • Time <5 mins
  • Reads 65
  • Votes 4
  • Parts 1
  • Time <5 mins
Complete, First published Jul 25, 2016
This story is about my feeling's . About life , family , friends , love , people  amd dead...
I just sometimes thinking that suicide is the one and only way to say everyone
- GOOD BUY . 
-WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
-I'M GOING...
All Rights Reserved
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The leaving 11 years on on going stopped up dating for a awhile  by CarolOBrien1
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The leaving. It was hard, tragic , painful, yet it had to be done, I needed to save my life. I didn't want to start again, this would be the story of finding myself, pulling myself back together, reuniting the happy go lucky youngster I had once been. The shock of leaving took more of a toll on me than I thought it would. I had asked two people to help me move out of the house I had shared with my partner for 8 years, we had been together 23 years in total. The move was done in total secrecy, my partner could never know in advance, it was a very scary time. I had moved various things out of the house and secured a rent on a property nearby. The house I picked was near the School the children went to, and my oldest lad was going to be near his best friend. My Mother told me of the property it was advertised on the web, we both went and had a look, even that was scary, I didn't want to be seen by anyone and became paranoid that I would be caught out. For many months I lived on a new kind of fear, the fear of someone finding out that I planned to leave my abusive partner, though of course no one knew my seemingly happy, funny, generous partner was abusive. Finding the house was one thing, getting the various companies to connect the house and exchanging the information of my current address so they could varify that I was, who I said I was almost drove me mad. The day came to leave, My Mother and a very dear Friend came round as early as possible, we packed as much as we could. This included taking the boys clothes, bedding, toys, stuff from the garden, my stuff. We had 3 cars the packing seem to take all day. By the end we had to get going to be able to unpack, leaving me time to pick up the boys from School and settle them in their new home. I couldn't do it at first,I started to cry then scream, to leave the world I had put so much of my life into, and now in a split second would be leaving was breaking my heart.
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"There comes a point where you no longer care if there's a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel." - Who I am doesn't matter. How I got here doesn't matter. What matters now is I'm getting help, right? That's what they tell me here. They tell me that the road to recovery feels like a terrible butt fuck, but the fact that you're on the path to begin with, is all that matters. So as I sit in this circle of fuck ups, I realize just how different I am from them. I didn't attempt suicide because my mother was a crack addict who didn't want me. My father wasn't abusive. I didn't have a sibling die in a car accident. I was never really bullied either. I attempted suicide because, for the first time in years, I thought I had found something that could make me feel again... and after not feeling much at all for far too long, perhaps I went a bit overboard