The fourth time I committed suicide, I'm still here. I thought loneliness would make me happy as long as I didn't say it out loud. This is not the case. The marks of slit wrists remind me again and again that even death is so cowardly. I have tried pills, sleeping pills, and paracetamol, but I want to tell you from personal experience that these drugs will only make you miserable. It doesn't help you. I can't answer for sure, is there a fifth time, but the sudden thought of writing it down made me live another day. The road is long and I hope to meet an angelic person for the rest of my life.