I first contemplated suicide when... (NSFW)

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I would not give them the satisfaction of the doubt

I live


ps lets hope the intolerant do gooders never shut down dignatas thankfully right wing religious nut jobs have a minimal voice in Switzerland .

Gonna write a book here, sorry, need to get this off my chest.

Probably first started having thoughts about it when I was around 15. Nothing too serious, more the "I wonder how everyone would feel if I wasn't around,' stuff, never planning anything, just imagining possible scenarios. I was abused physically and emotionally by my father for most of my life, and my brothers- both younger than me but bigger and stronger physically- joined in as they got older. Sometimes my father would tell them to "beat the sh8t of her for me, your mother's being a b*tch again and won't let me take care of it." Eventually, this got to be too much for me, especially with my HS graduation approaching, and I told my school guidance counselor. Long story short, we ended up having meetings with school officials and DCYF, but everyone except my mom told them I was lying and seeking attention because I wasn't going to graduate on time (I was 1/2 credit short and did end up graduating late, but that didn't matter to me; all the other stuff I had going on at that point was enough to be worrying about). Even when I said that he often hit my youngest brother as well, nobody backed me up. I feared not only for myself, but for the boys. I genuinely just wanted to help everybody. But nothing ever went anywhere, and eventually the whole 'investigation," if you can call it that, was dropped.

Things got a little better when I left for college, though when I went home on weekends, I never knew what to expect (my father was bipolar, so he might greet me with a bear hug or tell me to get my fat ass busy, no one had washed his work clothes in two weeks). I felt okay for a while, was still taking antidepressants for my own myriad issues, but wasn't spending time locked in my room imagining how my family and friends would cope without me. I figured that once I finished college, got a job, and had my own life, everything would be all flowers and rainbows and unicorns.

Fast forward a couple of years, to last March. I had come home from school for Easter. I knew something was off when my mom and I came home from grocery shopping. First, my dad, already good and drunk though he couldn't have been home for more than an hour, flipped out at the bill (though it wasn't much more than we normally spent, but we'd had to pick up a few extra things for Easter dinner). Then my youngest brother asked to borrow my mom's car to visit his girlfriend. Dad completely blew a gasket, screaming how my brother never helped out around the house and couldn't take the car because he was a "useless piece of sh*t." My mom, sensing that yet another holiday explosion was building, told my dad it was her car and my brother could use it, adding to my brother, "Just go. Stay the night and be home for lunch." Well, my dad chased my brother outside, punched him in the head and dragged him out of the driver's seat, threw him on the ground and started beating on him. finally, little brother decided it was time to stand up for himself, punched my dad in the face and then slammed his head against the side rear-view mirror, breaking it. he took off with the car. Dad came in, screamed at my mother and I for not standing up for him and agreeing with him when he said my brother deserved the beating, then told me, "[Spirochete], I can't f*cking stand you." Ten he looked at me and my mother with tears in his eyes and said, "I hope this will be a nice memory of me for you to have."

Now, my father had threatened us with suicide before. It was one of his favorite manipulation tactics and he'd said it at least once a week since I was maybe 10. So we didn't think anything of it as he walked into the bedroom, which was connected to the living room where i was sitting on the couch, figuring he'd go to bed and sleep it off as usual, and probably wonder why we were so mad at him later on.

Maybe a minute later, I heard the gunshot from the bedroom. He shot himself in the heart maybe fifteen feet from where I was sitting. Even thinking of that sound now has started my heart racing.

We found out from the police later on that there had been three loaded guns in there.

Exactly two weeks later, we lost our dog to brain cancer.

Exactly two months after that, we came back from a sort of "emergency vacation' to Disney World to find one of our cats extremely ill with a UTI. The emergency vet gave us a very dire prognosis, saying that if he didn't receive a $3,000 surgery, he would almost certainly die. At this point, I said, "If the cat dies, I'm done. I will kill myself." A bit dramatic, perhaps, over the possible death of an animal, but I really felt I couldn't handle anymore at that point. This got me locked up in the psych hospital for a little over a week. They upped my Prozac, prescribed me some other types of meds, and called it good. And I did feel good, for a while. After everything the emergency vet had told us, the cat survived- our regular vet unblocked him and he was totally fine. Then the bank foreclosed on our house. Fortunately, we were able to use the life insurance money from my father to find a new place, but we had to put everything in my name since my mom's credit was so screwed she pretty much couldn't buy a Snickers. Having to be the person in charge of finances and paperwork for a whole family, at age 22, put a lot of added stress on me. Now I'm stuck with this house that I can't really leave because I'm the one who has to manage everything about it, I had to pull out of school to be there for my family, and I can't find a job.

On September 30th, exactly six months to the day after I lost my dad, my favorite cat died. Notice a pattern here?

Now, because I can't find a job, my whole family acts like I'm their personal maid. Now, I have no problem whatsoever doing ordinary household chores of the kind that are necessary to keep a home functioning, but it should not be my responsibility to pick up peoples' dirty clothes from the bathroom floor, clean up the dirty dishes they leave lying around when there's plenty of room in the dishwasher, wash my brother's girlfriend's underwear etc. When I tell this to my mom (who is actually one of the biggest offenders) how I feel, she tells me to stick up for myself and refuse to pick up after everybody's laziness. When I don't do it, though, she calls ME lazy. Everyone keeps telling me I need to get a job, but even when I've had jobs in the past, they expect me to come home and do everything for them. If I have a job outside the house, everything will be filthy and repulsive, and guess whose fault that will be? Certainly not the people who made it that way in the first place!

I had once planned on completing my B.S. in biology and going to medical school. Now I can't even see myself getting an Associate's.

I feel so damn stuck, like there's nothing I can do to get out of this. If I admit to feeling like I want to kill myself, it's my fault beause I'm not trying to be happy. If i don't tell my mother how I'm feeling, she gets mad. If I tell her how I'm feeling, she gets mad. And the one-year-anniversary is coming up. If anything happens, I swear to God I don't know what I'll do.

About the middle of last year. Depression hit very suddenly. For the last few years I'd been enjoying my life of frivolity but then it suddenly felt empty yet I wasn't sure I could change it. It was like someone had just flicked a switch in my brain.