| Hi people. First of all, sorry about reanimating this topic months later. It's a long read, but you won't be sorry when you get to the end.
You probably don't remember what this thread was all about (the title is clear enough, I think) and I'm not a part of the community per se, always been a bit distant.
Anyway, I survived (obviously.) And moved on. Never got a chance to thank those of you who answered me. Caring for strangers is something rare.
I grew massive balls at the end of summer, I could park my oversized now deceased car in them. Basically after all that shit I told you about my friends chose my ex girlfriend over me, I once cried like a pussy and asked for help, saying I couldn't take it, and they seriously told me to fuck off. Turns out the girl was saying I wouldn't do anything and just wanted attention.
Anyway, after being an enormous wimp and almost throwing myself from a bridge I called 911 (or my country equilavent), got in (one of the volunteers was a guy I knew from school, shocked that it was me in that situation, because I've always had the reputation of a relaxed, care-free kind of guy.) and got driven to the hospital.
I was crying the whole time, my arms had scratches on them and people were just staring at me in the waiting room. Then I was transfered to another room, they gave me an yellow bracelet (means the maximum waiting time is 1 hour, semi-urgent.).
So there was I on the other waiting room, a doctor talked to me a bit, but then an urgent patient got in and he had to go. He was nice. They gave me some crap to sleep, probably a placebo because I didn't feel shit.
I stood there, trying to sleep, and then a bunch of med students and a doctor got in. He walked around describing the patients, and when I got to the old man in the bed near me, he casually talked to them about how he was dying.
In front of the old man, who couldn't even respond.
Then the doctor pointed at me and said: "This young man tried to kill himself, he had been showing symptons of anxiety for some time and the psychiatrist will probably prescribe him antidepressants blah blah blah."
Hours later, three, to be exact, the psychiatrist arrived and I got to see her.
We casually talked, I casually cried, she casually pretended to be worried. Gave me meds and silently told me to fuck off.
That's when I realized humanity is bullshit. We've all been hurt and sometimes we shut down that part of us that makes us care.
I didn't want to feel sorry for myself anymore, but I did. My mom picked me up, left me at home. I did another cry marathon, oh, salvation of the wimps!
A week or two later my then-not-so-massive-balls grew to a fraction of it's present state, I got out of the house, found some guys I knew from school, and long story short, became their friends. That helped.
One day later I randomly pulled a hot girl home, but I was still so fucked over so many things that I didn't have sex with her.
... Okay I'll be honest. The antidepressants were killing my sex drive, they made me nauseous and numb.
My balls shrank a bit some days later and I called my girlfriend. She had already found another guy, I yelled, blah blah, got depressed again. And then I didn't.
I threw the fucking meds away, I told her to fuck off, I took a deep breath and rejoiced as my pants stretched to contain my manliness. Life is too short. I wasn't happy, but I wasn't gonna let the world fuck me over. Or myself.
Now I'm in college, in the course that I wanted to be, in a spectacular University. I met AWESOME friends (I rarely go back to the place where I used to live, now). My relationship with my mom has improved significantly, my dad is no longer trying to be assassinated by retarded brazillian assholes (true story, that was part of the problem, whooops, forgot to mention.)
I practice muay thai, even though I'm shortest and lightest guy there. It seems I'm pretty good at getting my face pumelled. Some people don't like me but most love me. I'm not at the peak of happiness but I will get there.
By the way, I'm in touch with my ex, the cruel evil thing. And funny thing, got her in bed again. She was separated from her boyfriend at that moment but it's still cheating for me. She tried to get me back, I told her no. I'm awesome.
Life is not great but it's good, I will make it great. I'm seeing someone, more casually, more relaxed, settled down after a handful of pick ups.
Long story short: I pulled through. I'm okay now. Pain is just a memory and some red lines on my wrist and memory.
Some of you are going to get really depressed, all of you are gonna get sad. I had nothing, now I have most of it, one day I'll have everything. Just smile and tell the world to fuck off, he'll love you for it.
I thank those who responded to the bottom of my heart. Funny how the promiscuous with reputations of douchebags of a seduction community were more caring to a stranger than anyone else at the time.
For those of you who are hurt, you will get better. One week, six months, whatever.
Oh, I got laid today.
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