My Suicide confession: The life I've kept hidden

When my Grandmother died it hit me really hard but I don’t think you know just how hard it hit me. After she died I began a spiral in to, what ended as extreme depression.  I just never got over that fact that she left me. Things got worse after the funeral.  I began to cut myself with razors. There is a certain release that comes from watching blood leak from your own wrist. I didn’t like the pain but there was just something about it. When I would do this I found myself at peace with myself and the world around me. This feeling becomes extremely addicting. I would go out and I would hide in places in my neighborhood. I would also never do this during the day. I would sneak out at night and do this. I did this all through the summer, and soon the school year started. No one saw what was happing in my life I became really good at hiding my pain mentally, and my wounds physically. But I soon began to struggle with my school work. I began to fall behind. I was on the edge with everyone in my life. Eventually the stress was just too much. One day, I woke up and made a decision: I was going to die. I didn’t want to live in this world. I didn’t see a point. I figured that if I was gone things would be better for everyone. I thought that no one would miss my any way. I spent weeks planning this, writing a suicide note, the way I would kill myself.  I wasn’t going to try to OD at all, hanging myself had to much a risk of being saved, and I was too used to cutting myself for me to try and slit my wrist. I finally decided that a bullet through the brain was the best way to go. I used a pistol I inherited from my Grandmother. So one day in October when everyone was out. I dressed myself in my dress blues, with rank and ribbons, printed up my note, sat on my bed, and made my peace with death.  I found that peace I was looking for. So I put the gun to my head took my final breath and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, not even a click, just nothing. I exhaled and tried again, just this time I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My life went on and things got better for the most part. I was still depress, and still cutting, but I hadn’t tried to kill myself since then. One day in study hall a friend found fresh cuts on my wrist. She knew were the came from instantly. She told me about her own struggles with depression and cutting. She told me how I wasn’t alone and how I didn’t have to fight this on my own. I haven’t cut since March of this year. I haven’t been extremely depressed since May of this year. I have been doing better. I never wanted any one to know about this. I never wanted this ever to see the light of day. This isn’t any one’s fault but my own. I did this to myself.