I’m scared, I’m so scared. I guess it is really my fault after all but I’m still scared. I never knew how serious it was until I finally picked up the knife and held it to my throat for what was…my ninety seventh suicide attempt.
It all started with bullying in kindergarten. You see, there was this boy, his name was Noah and he made fun of me because I was fat, an loud, and a freak. He would regularly just push me for no reason and whenever I cried, they, everyone else, called me a baby and a freak. So, one day, I dove off of the swing set and landed on my front. Number one, failed.
“You need to be more careful,” My teacher told me, “Otherwise, you can get hurt, really bad.”
To them, it was scary to watch a five year old kid take a plummet off of a swing set but to me; it was a form of freedom. I could decide how to die but, I needed it to work in order to be free, for sure. I was in control of something! I was in real control of how I died!!
Through grade school, I tried on and off with self-strangulation and a quick knife thrust into my chest, all failed and resulted in me crying. Why was I crying? After all, I had two…no one friend whom I could share all my secrets with, he was best friend.
“Sean,” I asked him one day, “If you could die, how would you do it?”
He chuckled, a Santa Clause laugh to me, and looked at me dead in the eye.
“I would die,” He told me, “By taking a leap of faith off of a cliff and pray.”
“Why pray?”
“Do you believe in God?” He asked.
I nodded.
“If you jump and God loves you, he’ll either let you go to come back to him or he’ll teach you how to fly.”
Then, it all came crashing down in one day in Fourth Grade. I had gone to visit a psychiatrist and it was then that he told me: “you have Asperger Syndrome…”
It was like a nail had been shoved into my hand. I had been labeled and for the rest of my life, I had this mark. Already, I was marked as the weird kid, the nobody of the group, most likely to be a failure, and the “Ew! I don’t like you!” As my old enemy, Katie, used to say.
So, as I exited into Middle school, I had the expectations of happiness to come, I would have friends, I would be liked, and I would be okay.

I was wrong.

That year, sixth grade, I met my first, and only, girlfriend. Her name was Emma and she was an angel of this world. She was always smiling, laughing, and twirling like a dancer. She liked me and I her, some would have called it love…yes; it was love; a young blossoming love that couldn’t be matched by anything in heaven above or hell below.
Then, she was stolen away and chased away by the winds of change. I was devastated and to make matters worse, I had acquired a new bully. His name was Ryan.
Every day, I went onto the bus and he would show up and beat me up. Nobody ever did anything to help me, they didn’t care about me. Some even started to cheer him on. I was the weird kid and they didn’t mind what he did to me, not as long as the assigned girl kept the bus driver from looking back and looking at me.
That happened for sixth and seventh grade until he went on into high school. Every day when I got home, mother would ask, “How was school?” I was so scared, I knew that I talked, he would get me. I couldn’t run away on a bus, they gagged me mouth shut so that I couldn’t speak and then they punched, spat, flicked, and even touched me. My only escape was a knife or a gun to my head and throat.
I never could get myself to slice my throat all the way through but, once, I nearly did blow my head off; but there was one problem. The shotgun shell had gotten water in the gun powder and was now useless.
I was trapped between my fear of him and my fear of failure to kill myself. What would my parents do? Would they send me to a hospital where they would poke and probe me until I screamed? Would they chain me like a beast until I was old and then release me to the wild?
I could never fight back, never, even when my second bully came into play. His name was Justin. I hate him; I hate him, I HATE HIS VERY EXISTENCE!!!!! Every day, he terrorized me to the point that he knew what would trigger my moods off. Once, I rode home on my bike from school and suddenly, he appeared and WHAM! I was on the ground, my lips bleeding as he leaned over me and gripped me by the collar and seethed: “If you ever tell anyone that I did that, I’ll kill you!” Then, he spat on me.
I never did fight back, I only fought myself. I took a knife some nights and sliced open little slits on my chest and belly, praying for me to just bleed out, not to heal.
“God has ways of dealing with people,” Mother always said, “Just let God deal with your bullies.”
I waited for an angel but I only got the devil in human form. Every time I walked into class, he would trip, spit, and even slap me. This was a public school, where they were supposed to protect us!! Where was my protection?!
I told the principal once, and she did nothing. I told the counselor, she did nothing but a tiny slap on the hand and a scoot aside for him. That day, I was beaten up. The next day, I carried a hunting knife to school with me. Yes, I was desperate enough to bring a knife to school because I was scared to death. I needed help, even my friend, Sean, was nothing compared to Justin’s devilish deeds.
I never whipped the knife out, I never took a running charge and dig my knife into his face, to even sympathize what he had done. Instead, I took the knife home and got a piece of rope.
After walking to the local park, I tied the rope around a tree, made a noose, placed the noose around my neck, and jumped.
You know how you have a headache that throbs whenever you hold your breath? Well, that’s what it is like, except, you feel the tightness around your neck and the rope burning into your skin and then, everything starts to go dark and you feel a bit of accomplishment, you’ve done it!
I woke up on the ground, staring up at the branch of the tree with a bit of rope hanging down. The rope had snapped.
Next day, I had an ugly bruise around my throat and guess who was the first to point this out? Yep, you guessed it, he was.
“Did you get that trying to do your mom?” He laughed, the class laughed with him, even the teacher chuckled.
I was angry, I hated him. So, I rose from my seat and shouted:
“NO! I got this when I tried to hang myself!”
Dead silence, not a sound could be heard. Getting up, the teacher began to walk towards me.
“Stop!” I growled, “You just sit right back down and leave me alone you wench!”
She obeyed and throughout the rest of class, nobody made any signs towards me, I had won…but I was wrong.
High School brought on another challenge; nobody ever understands what I go through, with only twenty suicide attempts. In ninth grade, I had barely any bullies and then, just when I thought that I had happiness, there came sadness over me.
My brothers have always hated me and yet, they put on a mask which they wore when my parents were near. To them, they were nice and the lovable angels and then, they were the angels of hell, flying around me to destroy me.
“Why don’t you just die?” My youngest brother asked me.
I did try, I really did. I tried hanging again, I tried to drink poison but I always puked it up in a green mess, I even try to starve myself. To me, the pain was nothing; it was just in the mind. Who cares about a hungry stomach? After all, everything that I ever loved was going to be gone soon, why bother? Who would bother anyways?
In one day, I starve myself of twenty pounds…my parents noticed.
“What is going on?” My father asked.
Where were you when I was five? Why do you notice now?
“Honey,” My mother said, gently, “You know that I love you.”
Who was this? What happened to my other mother, the screaming one? What happened to her? Why does she care for me now?
She held me against her shoulder. Who was this? Where was my real mother?
“Now get your chores done,” She whispered.
I knew it. Their kindness was too good to be true.

Tenth grade, the year that the walls came down. I began to have some friends, Sean and I were tight, we practically read each other’s thoughts and we loved to hang out. Throughout my tenth grade year, he and I were always happy and then, summer came.
One day, I was riding my bike when I heard a door open. I turned my head just in time to see Sean, with his shotgun, sticking the barrels into his mouth.
“Sean!” I started.
BANG! BANG!
If you had never seen anyone die, it isn’t like in the video games. There’s no music, no comrades, no LEVEL UP sign. It’s just you, and the body. Everything was in a fog as I ran over and held his dismantled head against my lap.
“Sean,” I called to the shell, “Please, don’t go! Sean, SEAN! Look at me, stay with me. Sean…Sean?”

There was no one there to comfort me, there was nobody for me. That summer, I tried over thirty times to kill myself. I would ride my bike, no brakes, in the rain, at oncoming cars and down hills at busy traffic. Each time, I either crashed or I sailed with traffic. Junior year, so lonely.
I feel so trapped. Everybody says that I should talk to the counselor but then, that gets on my record and then colleges don’t want me and then, I’m rejected again. But if I don’t tell anybody, then it will build up inside of me until I burst. Who can I tell? I never really had a best friend ever since Sean died and yet, what friend was I to not rescue him?
I should have died that night; I should have died not him! It’s not fair, I tried ninety-six times to die and he did it in one!
Now, whenever I see people happy, I feel the pain of guilt which consumes my soul and breaks my heart. I didn’t save Sean, let alone help him. I was a horrible friend to him and never could I tell him how much I loved pulling pranks and talking about video games with him.
No matter how hard I try, I could never find an escape, even a few weeks ago, when ninety-seven became the latest on my suicide count, I could never find an escape.
I know that God doesn’t love me because every time I get a new friend, they fade away and then just stop talking to me. I guess it’s just me, I really wish it wasn’t me.
I always tried to remove myself from the equation, I always tried to makes things better for the world and yet, I have failed at that as well.
Yet, as my dear Emma once told me, “Hope,” I still have hope, maybe something will happen and maybe someone up there does love me. Maybe, one day, I won’t have to cry and turn at night as I see Sean, dying, in my mind and still reminding me that I am still alive.
Thank you for reading this.

My name is Nobody and I have tried ninety-seven times to commit suicide, all failed