Even his suicide note was cheerful.
The summer that three of my friends committed suicide, my sister convinced me that the voices in my head were them telling their true stories of being murdered.
The irony has never been lost on me that my genetic disease which causes depression also keeps the scars that cover my arms from ever disappearing.
I found out about my friend's attempted suicide as I pulled into her driveway to cheer her up.
When I logged on to Facebook, I wasn't expecting to find my mother's suicide note.
I had always wanted to meet your family, but never under these circumstances.
The lady from suicide hotline spoke to me as if I was five years old.
When we came back from summer vacation, the school board had the sharpie notes painted over, but the locker still stands empty three years later.
I thought my college crush and next-door neighbour was just sick until they called a dorm floor meeting.
When her shaky and sobbing voicemail said to call her back asap, the worst thing I could think of was maybe her dog was dead, not her father.
Because some idiot doesn't know how to label an address, I got a knock on the door from the mailman, which saved my life.
When I walked into my Grandpa's house I thought a bag of frozen blueberries melted on the floor, only for it to be revealed as a puddle of his own blood.
When my family asked me why I tried to kill myself I threw them out of the hospital room telling them to come back when they had the answer, but even now I can hear them arguing loudly in the hallway and I know they'll never figure out the reason.
The catharsis from killing the character based on myself in my terrible novel may have been the only thing that prevented me from doing it in real life.
Your brains will never wash off our daughter's bedroom walls.
One week after my niece was born to my seventeen-year-old sister, the father hung himself.
I learned that night that sometimes when a person threatens to commit suicide, they aren't bluffing.
I was writing a poem about death when my health class learned that writing poetry about death is a sign of someone being suicidal.
She paused, looked at the damage she had already done and realized that the only reason for not ending it all right then that came to her mind was, "You have a test on Monday that you've already studied for."
I have received a lot of things that most don't get by 18, PTSD, depression, therapy, violent fantasies, and suicidal thoughts, yet I still haven't had a girlfriend.
I couldn't stop thinking about how that picture board had been made for a graduation party, not a funeral.
When the doctor asked if there was a history of depression in my family, I said no, but later I realized the two alcoholics and the two suicides by gun probably counted.
The very first person to ask me for my autograph killed herself a week later, and I will never forget her.
My grandma was waiting for my dad to take her to the hairdresser, but when he didn't show she went up to his room only to find empty wine bottles, pills, and him dead on the couch.
Waking up four hours later in the hospital after I had overdosed on Tylenol, I was so happy to be alive that I thought I was cured.
The poor janitor was only trying to do his job, and it was never supposed to include being threatened to be ripped limb from limb by grieving teenagers.
While out to lunch with a roommate I hadn't seen in 27 years, she mentioned between bites of her chicken salad sandwich that her first memory at age 3 was watching her mother try to commit suicide by setting herself on fire.
It was when I attempted to commit suicide at Wal-Mart that she realized I needed help.
I never thought at 24 I'd have to move 3000 miles, share an air mattress with my brother, have my car repossessed, and have to file for bankruptcy because my husband decided suicide sounded like a better option than getting professional help.
The day I got fed up with her daily suicide threats and didn't call to make sure she was okay was the day she was found dead.
I just discovered my diary from when I was 17 and the last thing I wrote in it was "Am I at the point where an overdose makes sense?"
His suicide note blamed me.
The only thing that stopped me from taking the rest of the Tylenol in the bottle was the possibility that my organs would be unsuitable for donation afterward.
I will never forgive them for letting me find out my aunt had committed suicide on the five o'clock news.
There was a night early in my childhood when I was certain my mother was going to commit suicide.
My mom paused while vacuuming to tell me she's afraid my brother will kill himself, which I've known for the past seven years.
When I think of Halloween, I think of how your roommates must have found you that night.
It's been a month today since he died and this website was my last port of call for somewhere he might have hidden a message to me.
When I found out the boy whose small gestures of kindness in high school had given me faith in humanity had hanged himself, I lost that faith in humanity.
I only have 70 days left to live, but I'm looking for a job anyway.
A failed suicide attempt on Tuesday night makes it hard to care on Thursday when your boss is mad you stayed home sick on Wednesday.
While playing pool with a stranger I was casually told that my childhood best friend had committed suicide.
You made your sister an only child after the "Half of My Heart is in Iraq" sticker on your truck became untrue.
When the boy I almost killed myself over in high school announced his breakup over Facebook, I realized I was living the life I had always dreamed about.
My father almost died when I was 14 because I lied to my Mom, telling her there was nothing in the drawer where I found his suicide note.
Thanks to me my best friend hasn't killed himself yet, but when I burn out and stop trying for him he'll kill two other people, then himself.
I had to find out from a myspace bulletin that the man I loved for 9 of the 18 years I had been alive, hung himself from a swing set in a local park.
She hung herself with the purse I gave her for Christmas.
Because he killed himself, I was able to fall in love.
Funny how I considered Mom the weak parent, but he's the one who killed himself.
My best friend hung himself on a Friday afternoon, and when I checked my cell phone the morning of his funeral I realized he had called me that day at 3:24PM.
As his favorite song played on my mp3 player, I realized why he tried to kill himself.
Until last year I never realized that people in mental institutions really do color and put jigsaw puzzles together.
When my phone rang, I expected to hear her voice, but all I heard was her mother crying and saying, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't believe you."
"Kill myself" and "Kill it myself" have very different meanings and the typo earned me 30 hours of group therapy.
If it weren't for all the songs about suicide, I wouldn't be here.
If I see another dog get dumped at the shelter, I just might save it or kill myself.
Had I gone back to sleep when I saw his number, he'd be dead, but I still feel like a bad friend.
As it turns out, today was just one more in an endless succession of days where the desire to get out of bed and go in to work marginally outweighed the desire to put my head in the oven and turn on the gas.
I worry he's just waiting for the last Harry Potter book to come out before he kills himself.
When we found his body, only his lower half stuck out of the ground so it looked like the earth was eating him.
I didn't expect myself to survive to see the two year anniversary of the day they told me it had been a single bottle of pills that took her away.