My brother committed suicide in 2001. I still don't know all the details, but he was impulsive and he owned a gun. That was that. Because of the grief from it I never thought that I would feel that way. But, something so horrible just happened to me that I can't mentally deal with it. I was really physically ill and all these medical care providers told me it was just anxiety and wouldn't help me except to try to shove drugs in my face. I went to the hospital and they called my doctor and the hospital made me leave because they said it was anxiety. I laid in my room for days and my nervous system just about did me in. No one knows what it was, but it damaged muscles, dimmed my vision and caused horrible pain. I don't trust anyone anymore. I don't know what the point of life is. Some people who I thought were my friends never even showed up to help get groceries. Although there are things to read about why not to commit suicide, it just doesn't seem to make sense. What is the quality of life when you have no money, crappy medical insurance and years of rehabilitation to look forward too--and it could have been prevented? Maybe it is the coward's way out, but then again the psychological trauma of screaming for help and not being believed was like a horror film. I will never trust a counselor again because he was the one who did this to me--said that I was anxious. Who wouldn't be anxious if every nerve in their body hurt. I never want to see another psychiatrist again, ever.