It was my last class of the semester, and the final exam was worth 30% of our grade.
After a late night study session I felt confident, but I had to decide between sleeping in or cooking breakfast. My eyelids chose sleep.
My stomach later regretted this decision, and after several uncomfortable stomach growls, I finally decided to make a quick stop by the campus bookstore and grab a snack before my test. Since the semester was ending and everyone was going home for the summer, a lot of items were on sale, including the snacks and candy that they kept up front. Being in the hungry state that I was in, it felt only logical to pick the largest, yet least expensive candy in order to get more bang for my buck.
And there they sat: two bags of Haribo Sugar-Free Gummi Bears, buy one get one free.
"What a deal!" I thought naïvely. I would eat one bag before my test, and one bag afterwards.
As I walked to class, I gleefully chewed on those abominable little bastards, unaware of the utter mayhem that they would soon unleash upon my poor, poor anus.
I sat down at my desk as the professor informed us that, due to issues with cheating in the past, restroom breaks would be prohibited until the completion of the exam.
"I'll give you 10 minutes to use the restroom now; this will be your last chance. Any takers?"
The demon bears hadn't released their unholy necromancy upon my stomach yet, so in my moment of ignorant foolishness, I remained seated, still munching on those miniature bear-shaped bombs.
After the students wise enough to take the professor's offer had returned, the professor handed out the test. I was six questions in when it happened.
It started subtly at first, almost like a slight tingly sensation in my lower abdomen. I thought nothing of it, assuming my intestines were just doing their thang. Little did I know that my intestines were trying desperately to warn me of the horror that was on the horizon.
By question 9 it happened again, but this time it was followed by a sharp pain, as if those infernal hellions had orchestrated an attack upon my colon. I fought to contain the groan that tried escaping my lips. It was at this point I began to panic; something was going horribly long, and I needed to get through this test before it got any worse.
By question 14 my worst fear was upon me; the Satan bears' burning, hot, liquidy dark magic crashed against my anal sphincter like a tidal wave. I was able to close the hatch just in time, but those relentless, toxic bears beat against it like Orcs breaking down the doors of Helm's Deep. I knew I wouldn't be able to so much as shift in my seat without risking a breach.
I kept fighting through my exam, clenching my cheeks with all my might. Beads of sweat began rolling down my neck. Suddenly, a loud, gurgling war cry came from my belly, and the entire class lifted their heads.
At this point, nothing mattered except expelling this ungodly presence from my bowels. With 15 questions left, I promptly wrote C for every answer and ran out of the classroom. My professor yelled something, but I was too preoccupied with the volcanic eruption that needed to take place before I could find sweet, sweet relief.
I burst into the restroom like the Kool-Aid man and, behold, the handicap stall was empty. Sun rays from the adjacent window shone upon it, as if it were a gift from God himself. It took me less than .5 seconds to undo my belt buckle, pull down my pants, and finally relax my weary buttocks upon the toilet seat.
It took absolutely no effort to expel this demon. Almost immediately, the floodgates of hell were opened and the damned, liquified souls of an entire bag's worth of gummi bears cried as they burned through my sphincter and into the watery abyss below. I had never felt such simultaneous relief and anguish in my life.
After 30 more minutes of this, I immediately went home, dug a hole in my backyard, and burned the remaining bag of gummi bears.
I leave with this; do not, I repeat do NOT eat these spawns of Satan. Not only did they cause me to fail my final test, but the anguish I experienced is something I wouldn't wish upon anyone, not even my worst enemy. The only place these god forsaken hell bears belong are buried deep below the Earth's surface.

I was depressed and suicidal several years ago. Although I don't really feel that way anymore, I never fully got my will to live back. It feels like I'm drifting and only continue because the people around me expect it. I'm tired of going through the motions. I don't want to kill myself, but I also don't want to live anymore.

I'm so tired of people on Facebook "starting their own business" and trying to sell shit to friends. No, I don't want to buy lipstick, essential oils, diet food, or your old clothes. Just stop.

I want to like avocados, but I don't. Nothing I do makes them taste good.

So, I've had a lot on my mind this last week, very little of which was finals. I've thought a lot about Daniel--which is funny, 'cause I never met the guy--and about what his family and friends must be going through. I've seen, second hand, the effects of losing a child and (on a separate occasion) a brother.
I just want to say that I don't know why he did it, but I can say why I would do it. If some people can look at accidents or sickness or brutal killings and think "that should have been me" then I feel the same way about suicide. I've felt hopeless, like everyone would be better off without me, like I have no future, like I've screwed everything up, and like I am unworthy of being loved. I'm a Bible-thumper with homosexual tendencies who will probably never have a girlfriend, let alone a wife. I'm dysmorphic, and I've cut myself after receiving particularly bad exam grades. I've rocked back and forth in a corner wishing I could just stop breathing. I have lied about secrets I've kept from my family that eat away at me every day. I've physically and verbally abused animals and people. In short, I'm a horrible person.

For me, dying feels like the best thing that could happen, and if I ever resolved to finally do myself in, I wouldn't tell anybody--and I'm make damn sure nobody found out until it was over.

But I can't die. It's not that I have so much to live for--people tell me I do, but I can't see it that way--but rather that other people find so much to live for in me. I... can't take that away from them...

But I also know that a lot of people commit suicide who have plenty of people in their life just like me. Why? Is what I'm feeling a pale imitation of the tortures they're truly going through? I've been raw with you guys; you tell me. I for one don't think so... Just from my observations, I'd say that I'm more intimate with my friends than most people, like, relationship intimate. I'm willing to admit my oddities, failures, fears, and listen to theirs in return. Does anybody else do that? As a society, as a generation, don't you feel like (men especially, but women too) we been emotionally emasculated? "You can't feel that, or if you do, don't tell anybody about it." "You thought what? You're for sure going to Hell." "What would they think about you if they knew this?" The funny thing about all these voices are that they are internal. In the most precise terminology, it's called shame, and, I can tell you from experience, they vaporize when you do exactly what they tell you not to.

Lemme say just one more thing, and I'll try to make it the Cliffnotes version: I've noticed that more people have acknowledged by presence in the week after Daniel died then the month prior to that. For someone like me, the way I talk to people (like, not often and usually about my problems), it's probably pretty obvious that I have suicidal thoughts... and sometimes actions... But you have to know that this is a weak response to what happened. Yes, reach out to those who don't have friends, but Daniel had friends--and I'm never going to lash out at them right now, because, as I've stated before, if Daniel was anything like me, there was nothing they could have done. Friends aren't the answer, relationships, as we know them aren't the answer. The only way to prevent suicide is to prevent people from ever feeling that way in the first place, and that starts with intimacy. Yes, it will hurt--God knows it will hurt--yes, death will come eventually, and the bereavement will come down on you like a flood. It was truly said that the pain then is part of the happiness now (not kidding at all. You might want to read A Grief Observed before you sign up for this). But I am telling you right now. It. Is. Worth. It. If I can stop one person from dying because I told them they meant more to me than my own life, then I have succeeded. Here I stand, and I can do nothing else. God help me.

I hate thinking about the future, and hate it when people try to talk about my future with me as if I know what I'm gonna do

I don't understand why some people are selling their extra graduation tickets. Can't everyone just be nice and give their extra tickets away for free to their classmates who really need them?

This year seriously hasn't been one of the good ones for me... there were a lot of life changes and struggles that seriously pushed me almost over the edge . . . I had a rough time making friends here, I was too far away from the friends I had, and I just felt so alone . . . In the middle of my first semester, I heard that one of my best friends died, but I was too busy to even attend her funeral . . . Things got so bad at one point, that I had to stop carrying my pocket knife because I came so close to using it on myself because I just felt so fucked over by this place . . . I can't relate to you all who are saying you'll miss being here because being here has caused me so much pain . . . When I turned in my last final yesterday, I seriously burst out crying because it meant that I could finally go home to be with the people I love and care for. I cried because so much of what has made me constantly anxious and restless every night is over. I cried because I get to be free and oh my fucking god that makes me want to cry even now!
. . . I'll be coming back . . . But at least for now, I can run away from this place, just for a bit.