scottishtensmachine
Member
I don't quite know the rules on posting your own stories here, so please nudge me if I've overstepped. But I, like Archie, tried to take my own life at 12. And before that, actually, several times. I didn't write a note, because what was there to say? You'd be writing a note to the very people that made you hurt so much, so deeply, that you felt death was your only way out.Something terrible happened in that little boys life that led him to take his own life. Don’t bullshit people with a “tiktok” trend or he tripped and fell with a house coat robe wrapped around his neck. If such a thing was plausible, explain the other incidents of him attempting suicide, the suicidal ideation on his social life.
Barely twelve, and already planning and glorifying suicide with a feckless mother who can’t even see that her poor boy is suffering, yet most people here can see from a quick glance at his socials there’s something going on with him.
Now that he’s dead, she plays the doting mother who will stop at nothing to bring her sweet boy back!
Neglected by everyone in life and then treated as a twisted spectacle in death.
You know what changed? Not much. Like Archie, I had a beloved pet, and the only reason I kept going was that I couldn't leave her behind. She would miss me. I wonder if the rabbit argument had some truth to it, and it pushed him over the proverbial edge.
I would be downright fucking hysterical if the same people that contributed to me feeling that way then acted like they were my heroes for forcing me to stay around. Or changing the narrative. They've robbed him of his dignity just as they've robbed him of his thoughts and feelings. They've turned his cry for help into their demand for attention.
I almost lost a loved one to suicide in my late teens. I stayed up all night for days, traumatised by the incident, just in case they tried again. I remember screaming and the inability to let go of them when they returned. I couldn't tell you what time it was or anything. I just remember this visceral fear and the way my life stopped. Years later, I still hover. I still check on them and worry if they're a bit too quiet. It was traumatic. I was torn between anger at them for hurting me and anger at myself for not seeing the signs and stopping them. They didn't leave a note, either. I can still barely talk about it - thank you relative anonymity of the internet- without panic attacks.
I've wept over this case because I can imagine where his head was. I wish somebody had given him a hug and investigated. I wish somebody had cared about this little boy before he was this spectacle. I don't want to say, 'oh, this could have been me,' because that undermines the real tragedy in front of us. But the situation hits very close to home. I wish his mother would stop pretending and, when she feels ready, try to stop this from happening to another child who is far too young.