Suicide? Wow, tough topic.
But to answer your question, yeah, I've been there. Actually became a pattern for awhile, you know? I'd wake up, glance around and wonder why it couldn't stay dark forever, stare at the mirror and call myself worthless, drag myself through the day without saying a single word to anyone- honestly, I don't know how I never got put through a metal detector- then shuffle on home, write something sinister, and cry myself to sleep.
Oh, and singing. I did a lot of that, still do, just different songs. My life's soundtrack then was a hell of a lot of Amy Lee, Creed, and some Nirvana. I still have the Creed, but at the suggestion of my therapist I traded in the rest for show-tunes. I had always liked Andrew Lloyd Weber. The problem was, the whole dizzying nightmare had begun with singing, but in some strange, masochistic way I found it to be the only thing that kept me from taking a knife beyond my wrists to my throat or another human being.
You want the story, now don't you? Wanna know how singing of all things nearly did me in by my own hand?
If not, now's your chance to back out.
I joined choir in first grade and never left. (save for that one GOD-AWFUL year spent in Orchestra) I made plenty of friends there and it was the only class that didn't feel horrendously suffocating, the one class that felt like what a class should be: a place where your voice was truly heard. To put it simply, choir was my safe haven, the place I'd always feel appreciated, accepted, and secure. It wasn't a problem until eighth grade, when everyone's hormones kicked in and the teasing began.
That's all it was at first, just playful teasing, but the way they cooped us up in that school, it didn't take long for teasing to become taunting, then straight-up bullying. An "accidental" shove, a call of "Faggot!" in the hallway, unceasing glares in the locker rooms. And then came the threats. Just a few at first, not too serious, nothing I couldn't handle, but they spread and escalated until pretty much every kid I knew was saying they had a keen desire to see me six feet under, even if it was only due to peer pressure.
The worst part was that I believed it, every last word. I believed them when they said I was a sin against nature, that I deserved to die slowly, that I was going straight to hell for not being like them (which basically entailed ogling up every skirt and down every shirt possible). I was ashamed of what I felt for my classmates, for the fantasies that haunted me at night. They weren't even sex fantasies, just... I wanted equality, that's all. Didn't seem like too much to ask.
But it never came, so I gave up and took fifty-seven Ambiens in one go.
They told me in the hospital that I had one of the strongest systems they'd ever seen, that it was for that reason only I was still alive. I didn't feel strong, I told them I hadn't felt strong in months. They shrugged and oh-so-discreetly handed my mother the name of a highly recommended therapist.
Dr. Marian Voll, bless her soul, was a sarcastic yet good-natured little puff of a woman who knew her stuff. I felt even more at home with her than I did in choir, enough to open up about the layers of shit that had been making up my life. I began to heal, to feel like everything would be okay, especially when I transferred to Dalton, with it's %100 acceptance policy.
And that's why it kills me to see you struggle, Kurt. That's why I seemed so concerned when you told me you were being taunted and threatened. Granted, the instant attraction may have been a factor, but more than that, I saw my old, scared self in you, remembered how close I had come to destroying myself. I don't want that for you, Kurt. I want you to live as long and full of a life as you can, to laugh and see the good in people as only you can do. The world needs more Kurt Hummels, and that's why I'm asking you to stay strong right now.
Have courage, Kurt.