I have, I was going to stab a knife into my hart. My romemate came in and fought for the knife. I am so glad he did that. I am not happy with my self for trying. I know it is the wimps way out but at the time I could not see the light. That was 4 years ago. The thing that helped me the most was Enotalone. I know it sounds corny. I just wanted to tell you all thanks for being there for me.
I'd like to start the Finish The Job Foundation, which would fund suicide kits for hospitals who have to stitch these fucking nimrods back up after their "cry for help". Each kit would contain a massive dose of an organic poison that breaks down after usage. Hospitals can administer the kit in accordance to the Life-Waiver and Donation-Assertion petition inside it, which the fucko must sign once he's stable and again indicates he wants to off his useless self since Sarah-Emily or whoever still doesn't want to fuck him. He signs, they inject, and another worthless assface shuffles off his mortal coil in a well-organized way. His body gets cut up (for real this time, which emo-boi failed to do the first time) and used for organ donations. Since no one will miss such a worthless piece of shit, the remnant remains will end up in the crematorium. EASY PEASEY.