I remember the first time I actually thought about suicide. I was doing the dishes, and I broke a coffee pot. The only damn coffee pot. I was so sick of everything, of doing every fucking thing wrong, I just started screaming. And then that’s when I heard my mother’s voice. She said, “The knife’s in the drawer. Cut off your singer and you’ll be dead in five minutes. I walked over to the drawer, pulled out the knife, and pressed it to my finger, then my wrist. Hard. Until I winced and pulled it back. I spent the rest of the day sobbing under a deck at a neighbor’s house.
To this day, I regret not slicing my finger, my wrist. I regret not giving in. To this day, I wonder what would’ve happened? Would anyone even realize I was gone? I think they’d probably just dress up in all their stupid black and weep false tears over a stupid box in which my body lay. But they wouldn’t have cared. They wouldn’t have meant their tears. Part of this, part of this made me happy. I had always known I was alone. But another part of me still questioned myself, and why I hadn’t just let go.
I still try, everyday. I don’t know why. There’s nothing left for me to try for. They say “Just wait. Hold on. Someday, something will happen.”
And I no longer believe them. I’ve waited for that someday long enough. But I don’t even know how to let go. Half of me wants to, half of me is screaming no. And I can’t choose. I feel like there is nothing left. I feel like I’m tired of everything, including trying. But I don’t know. And that’s the worst feeling in the world, to me.
I cut myself. Not often, because I don’t want anyone to know. No, no. That’s a lie. I want them to know the pain they’ve put me through. I want to raise my wrist above my head and slash it open, watch the velvet blood, my life, flow away. Watch their faked horror.
And at the same time I want to hold on. I don’t know why, or for what. And I just don’t know what to chose.
I probably already said that. I’m just typing out my thoughts here. And I dont even know why I’m doing this, either.
I’m sorry for my pointless rant. I just wanted to..I don’t know. I honestly don’t know shit anymore.
4 comments
Every woman longs for a spiritual man. Every man longs for a good woman.
The spirit is not found in the treasures of the Earth, but treasures of Heaven. Blood is born of pain and sorrow, but lives.
I can relate to this… a lot. And I feel the same way. I want to die but I’m not sure. There’s still something in me that wants to live, but to me that is not a good thing, it will only make the dying harder. And I’m also afraid of dying itself (I’m too afraid to choose a violent or scary method) and that the attempt won’t work.
As a teenager i remember my mom telling me to take the handful of vitamins as she walked in on me. I wonder why i did not listen and i am actually glad i didn’t. So, there’s definitely a chance for you. Some just have to go through all the feelings. I would def move out when you are able to. Getting rid of the negative voices are a must. They’re a major contributor of depression.
I wrote two posts on here that might help.
They at called;
the Cutter,
the Suicide,
Your depression has a pattern, similar to the others on this site.
Your path to peace has a pattern as well.
Om shanti