Well, these kids are weak. I don't have any sympathy for people who kill themselves after being bullied. In fact, anyone who commits suicide are weak-ass pussies. Let me tell you a story that I first posted on another forum and another thread which was started by a suicidal person:
When I was only 4 years of age I was violently raped by my uncle. He raped me in the mouth. He raped me in the ass. I still suffer from the hemorrhoids. I repressed the memories for years until I turned 18. All throughout those years of repression images of dicks danced on the edges of my consciousness in its weakened state just before sleep. I attributed these distant echoes to an over-active imagination and dismissed them as too horrible to be reality, yet they were real. When I remembered it was not mere acknowledgement of events but a full re-experience of that terrifying, painful trauma. It was as if I was the same age again and was being fucking raped.
But the horrors did not stop there. In my distraught state my powerful imagination unconsciously dreamed up cathartic experiences of false, violent death memories that nevertheless were as real experiences as those dreams which you feel to be so real that you are surprised upon waking, except that these violent death experiences took place in the waking world and could not be escaped. I was a conquistador and I died by being scalped alive by the savage natives. The thing about being scalped alive that's so terrible is not the pain itself but the terrible feeling of absence of the top of your head. It was so horrible that I accidentally kicked out the windshield of my father's car in a fit of agony.
Then I was a beatnik who died the slow, horrid, numb death of morphine overdose. It took around 10 hours but it felt like 10 years. The numbness was so extreme as to be terrifyingly powerful for it was not just a numbness of the body but also of the brain.
Then I was a creature on another world and I was consumed by a voracious predator whose many teeth rested on cruel, finger-like appendages. It was like a being with moveable claws for teeth.
Then I was a samurai who failed to properly commit seppuku and my best friend had to stab me in an act of euthanasia.
These great sufferings would've been bad enough if I were an attractive person, but alas I am not. I'm 300 pounds of which is mostly disgusting fat, I'm ugly as sin, Is till live with my parents, and as a result of that first trauma I am terrified of sex. As such I would never have the balls to get a woman even if my looks did not repulse them.
To this day I am still somewhat insane. It's gotten so bad at times that my parents have threatened to have me committed to a mental asylum.
And yet, through all this pain beyond the ken of a normal man have I tried to end my wretched life?
NO! FUCK NO!
You know why? It's because I ain't a fucking pussy! I ain't so motherfucking weak that I embrace the oblivion of death for its false solace! Whatever the quality of life you experience on this Earth is, as long as it brings you some joy, some comfort, some glory it is worth preserving!
When I was only 4 years of age I was violently raped by my uncle. He raped me in the mouth. He raped me in the ass. I still suffer from the hemorrhoids. I repressed the memories for years until I turned 18. All throughout those years of repression images of dicks danced on the edges of my consciousness in its weakened state just before sleep. I attributed these distant echoes to an over-active imagination and dismissed them as too horrible to be reality, yet they were real. When I remembered it was not mere acknowledgement of events but a full re-experience of that terrifying, painful trauma. It was as if I was the same age again and was being fucking raped.
But the horrors did not stop there. In my distraught state my powerful imagination unconsciously dreamed up cathartic experiences of false, violent death memories that nevertheless were as real experiences as those dreams which you feel to be so real that you are surprised upon waking, except that these violent death experiences took place in the waking world and could not be escaped. I was a conquistador and I died by being scalped alive by the savage natives. The thing about being scalped alive that's so terrible is not the pain itself but the terrible feeling of absence of the top of your head. It was so horrible that I accidentally kicked out the windshield of my father's car in a fit of agony.
Then I was a beatnik who died the slow, horrid, numb death of morphine overdose. It took around 10 hours but it felt like 10 years. The numbness was so extreme as to be terrifyingly powerful for it was not just a numbness of the body but also of the brain.
Then I was a creature on another world and I was consumed by a voracious predator whose many teeth rested on cruel, finger-like appendages. It was like a being with moveable claws for teeth.
Then I was a samurai who failed to properly commit seppuku and my best friend had to stab me in an act of euthanasia.
These great sufferings would've been bad enough if I were an attractive person, but alas I am not. I'm 300 pounds of which is mostly disgusting fat, I'm ugly as sin, Is till live with my parents, and as a result of that first trauma I am terrified of sex. As such I would never have the balls to get a woman even if my looks did not repulse them.
To this day I am still somewhat insane. It's gotten so bad at times that my parents have threatened to have me committed to a mental asylum.
And yet, through all this pain beyond the ken of a normal man have I tried to end my wretched life?
NO! FUCK NO!
You know why? It's because I ain't a fucking pussy! I ain't so motherfucking weak that I embrace the oblivion of death for its false solace! Whatever the quality of life you experience on this Earth is, as long as it brings you some joy, some comfort, some glory it is worth preserving!
