I'm not a particularly pleasant person to be around. One reason is due to the fact that I'm an ass, but the larger reason is that I am not only prone to negative emotions, but depression has been a consistent (if not constant) part of my life.

I'm not entirely sure as to why I've developed this way, but one reason may be that my father is an alcoholic, and even though he's been sober for two and a half years, it affected me during my early developmental years. I don't remember any particular verbal/emotional abuse, but I've heard second-hand it happened at least occasionally.
Potentially that, along with my personal fixation with death (that I've had for as long as I remember), has made me dwell more on the negative, as well as keep issues/emotions/thoughts to myself.

I do not remember when I first thought about self-injury, nor when I first seriously thought about/considered/contemplated suicide; I was aware of the self-injury at the very latest by my freshman year in high school, but didn't know of anyone who self-harmed until the summer of 2007, after I first started talking with people on the 'net. I've always been socially inept, and I first truly opened up to people I talked with online.

This is relevant, because someone I greatly cared for back then (and still do) told me she cut. However, unlike cutting one's wrists (which was the only way I was previously aware of), she said she cut on her hand. I do not remember the reason, but a couple months after I made several small/shallow cuts on my left-hand. It actually did temporarily make me feel better, either do to a sense of euphoria. I don't know if that's the reason, but I also (perhaps not consciously) found out that I was soothed by seeing my own blood flow. I was stupid about it, and either because of a classmate or teacher, my mom found out. That's the only reason I didn't cut after that; I didn't want to deal with my mom crying and/or flipping out. I didn't injure myself (regardless of intent), for some time.

I don't remember when I first considered suicide, but it was probably during my first two years of high school. As months passed, I started thinking about it more and more, and probably some time during the middle or end of my junior year, I began actually contemplating it. I didn't harm myself that year. Looking back at the end of the summer of 2009, what happened in 2010 was inevitable. The only reason I didn't act for about then months was because I found a reliable distraction during October or November. CoD. I played MW frequently until the MW2 was released. After that, that's what all my leisure time (excluding the weekends, when I went to my father's) was spent doing. It required concentration, and allowed me to get out of my thoughts. By the end of May, though, my thoughts became too much.

I attempted suicide on June 3rd, 2010. I planned it the day before, on the 2nd. The reason I put it off was, because like everyone else,I didn't want to die. I was hoping someone at school would pick up on the subtle signs and asked one of the questions I needed to hear. Noone did. I went home. I knew I wouldn't have been able to deal with asphyxiation, which was why my attempt to hang myself was half-assed. I did, however, believe I would be able to bleed out. I most likely would have, but I hit a tendon. At that point, all of my resolve dissipated. I knew I wasn't able to continue. To sum up the following events, I texted a friend and spent time with a couple of them, then told my mom and went to the hospital. I was put in BHU, and had to see a shrink for a year, after being released from the hospital on the 6xth.

Some older Portal members may know this, because I stated it in my 'Sensitive Material' thread in the Debate section. Most likely they have forgotten, though.

Almost two years have passed, and I still have suicidal thoughts, and impulses/urges. I've had the urge to cut pretty much when I did it that one time in 10th grade. I recently realized that these feelings and urges will never leave me; I'll have to deal with them the rest of my life. If I lived alone in a apartment/house/what-have-you, I know I would cut. Even if I had started living by myself months ago, I would probably have cut dozens of times.