When You're Like Me; Suicide Is Still Awfully Tempting No Matter How Painful It Is

And maybe that's part of suicide's appeal-- the pain, the selfishness. For example, some people say that would miss me if I committed suicide-- boy, would I like to come back and see them put their money where there mouth is (I almost typed "mouth where their money is", but maybe that, too.). Besides, if they want me around so badly (and with all due respect and deference, STFU if you want to start kvetching about how this is typical suicidal talk, etc.; you will utz me):

1. Why do they treat me like they'd rather me be dead? And while they're at it; some of them hate me because I'm on the lowest of the lowest, of the lowest of the lowest rung of the social ladder in general society-- the disabled. For example, I have Cerebral Palsy (Diplegic Spastia); and I don't hear anyone talking about Julie Cirella anymore-- in fact, I almost suspect that some think that Julie Cirella's mother did the right and honorable thing. But they sure as Heaven and Hell wouldn't say that if Julie Cirella weren't disabled (and forget that she's Black-- her disability, not her ethnicity, is what makes her less honored than Caylee Anthony, Leiby Kletzky-- of whom I am a fellow Israelite--, and the Coleman boys, for example.).
2. Why do some of them try to contol my life and otherwise abuse (including ignore and withhold important information, including documents) from me, knowing that they damned well couldn't do that if I weren't disabled? FYI, Dad; were I not disabled, you never would've gotten away with even some of your physical abuse, let alone (among other actions) your verbal and other non-physical abuse and withholding that Great-Granddad Czarnecki and Great-Great-Granddad Foczko both committed suicide (which would have explained why I tried to commit suicide-- people without a history of suicide and/or other significant issues in their family and other history don't attempt or threaten suicide).
3. Same question above, except my prime example-- my thought policewoman of a mother. You damned well know, Mom, that you would never try to control what I at 21 years old say, do, etc. if I weren't disabled and had prospects. And I'm sorrowed (Why should I be "sorry"? I'm not apologizing for having my own thoughts, etc. at 21; so I'm sorrowed)  that, for example, my being proud of my Jewish heritage (no matter how unproud of it Dad and his family are) isn't your cup of tea. Besides, see if I ever tweet about anything that you might need prayer for or any appreciation of anything that you do or go through again-- after all, you "don't want to live [your] life out in the public venue".

I could give more examples, but I think that being on the most-times-over-lowest-of-the-lowest rung of the social ladder and easily abusable because of my Cerebral Palsy is an understandable reason for why I'm still often quite tempted to commit selfish suicide-- rub the pain that they've affected and effected in, and get the last laugh ("See you suckers! I'll be in Heaven; you'll still be here!").