She swallowed them down to the very last pill, she cut up her arms until you couldn’t see flesh, she scratched up her legs for just being her, because she longs for the day when she’s happy with herself. She’s waited for so long, could it be the night? The night she’s been waiting for all her life? She leaves a note on the window sill, and goes back to her bedroom to do the deed. After the last bottle of pills, she tucks herself into bed and knows that better is yet to come. No more loneliness. No more misery. As she closes her eyes to fall asleep, she manages to get out a few words, “I’m sorry mother, but don’t worry. I’ll be okay.” and falls asleep.
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Then wakes up and feels ten times better. She moves to New York city and becomes a successful actor on Broadway. She falls in love, gets married, and has two beautiful children, where the fat one super flies. And they are so very very happy.
That will be you.
Yeah, in my dreams.
Follow your dreams
You dream of having a fat kid that super flies?
Ughh, no.. Nevermind.
Sorry jus tryin to lighten the mood. I understand what you mean but sometimes the answer is doing what you love no matter how completely unrealistic it is. seems cheesy but sometimes our dreams are all we got
i think our dreams ARE all we’ve got.
and sometimes it’s not enough to hold onto. :/
i hope for you, suicide, it will be.
What a story. What creative details profound in this. The sadness, misery, and depression. A note that should be found knowing that she is gone and done the deed. That it is too late to even bring her back. I’ll say that was very sad and I’m crying on the inside.
lol TC nice
@sucidekillme, thank you
no problem o:
Alright, I am going to come right out and say it. Romanticising suicide in this way is fake and a little childish. The act of suicide is never going to be beautiful, or romantic, it will be gross (probably involving shit, piss and puke) and it will never be a beautiful ending, only the start of guilt and pain for the ones left behind. The people who I knew who went through with it never left notes: that’s because (and I’ve been through this) you get halfway through writing a note, and you feel so guilty that you can’t go through with it.
I don’t want to discourage you from expressing yourself, because you should – you are obviously a gifted writer, this piece is full of imagery and has really nice rhythymns. But you would be so much better off channeling this into something less contrived.
Despite the OP taking offense, this is exactly the kind of responses that I came here to find for my life. Honest, straightforward, insightful. Kicking around ideas, examining our suppositions, challenging the soundness of our processes and conclusions.
Dammit! Who are you to judge me?! You don’t even know what Ive fucking been through! I don’t feel guilty at all! I don’t care if I leave loved ones hurt and crushed, I’ve been hurt and crushed all my life! I don’t fucking care about them! And FYI, my suicide will be beautiful, to me. I don’t care what it is to anyone else.