this is far from the first time, in fact it’s been happening for such a long time but i didn’t mention it: i keep telling myself to shut up but there is no voice. i know some people experience “voices” but its not that, it’s like someone is talking to me on mute, i don’t know what it is saying but i think maybe it’s me telling my thoughts to shut up, but i don’t know what i’m thinking either. feeling like something is foreign inside my head isn’t the first time either, the slight itch started yesterday, i don’t know, there’s something heavy and uncomfortable. it’s raining again. I feel like i’m holding in so much that i want to throw up every bit of organs left in me. I remember a time that was especially bad, it’s as if bugs have entered from the top of my scalp and have crawled down to under my skin inside my limbs, eating up my brain. but it shouldn’t be a bit issue if i’m still sane and functioning, even I myself don’t know what happened to me, what has happened or what is happening, the least i need is myself convincing me to believe things. Through trials and errors I have put myself inside a loop of false thoughts which i know is both real and fake and i can’t convince myself either way. It’s real but it isn’t, and if they’re all false, what part of me is real? then it further feeds into the idea that everything about me, isn’t real. I have lived for such a short time, I am too young to be experiencing any of this. being under the sun drags me back to reality a bit, but the sun don’t want me either. I’m not needed, nor wanted, anywhere, in no place i’m worth anything. I know this is wrong but i know it is real. and here i am with the same answer to it all, that is to die, just like the most of my recent posts, i talk about what’s been happening, and i suggest that i die. just like how i say it is real but it isn’t, I can’t die but I have to. Didn’t I tell you to not argue logic to a defect?
i cant find a place to hang. I was supposed to be normal, i just fixed myself she wont give me a break. I am going to go crazy. this isnt real. I woke up at the wrong time, i wasnt supposed to wake up, i woke up in the wrong world in the wrong body, this is jusyt a bad dream. I never knew this. If someone could recprd me. I wil nver remember what happened, I cant find a place to hang. the doorknob is too low, the rail of the bed soesnt work, cutrain pole tooo soft it curves in. I need it now. I need iit now. i am ready. I woke up, i should have never woke up, it woke up, thwe winter no IM not real , this isnt real,, no more any of this. Im going to wake up soon.my only regret is that i just fixed myself. I beat myself up just like i asked for. it worked. why do i smell the bakery shop near my elementary. I woke up wrong, this iwhere im supposed to be. I want to die, please. please. this isnt real. I will go, i dont i cant leave the room, almost like a ppsyc ward builrt fo r myself. she, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut uup. shut up, plastic cord dont speak. shut up, just shut up and go to sleep, kill yourself tomorrow, if it shut up.n im not real.It’s always my fault, do you want to kill me? do you want to take a hammer to my head? do you want to do that instead? you gave birth, i had to live within this, i remember what it was like now. i remember what happened last winter now. I woke up in , stop lying. i should have never woke up, i shouldnt have woke up, i shouldnt ahev woke up, does anyone have the fetish or the desire to, shut up, shut up. i am not, am i i.??????I have worked so hard to put it into, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry sorry, my words, my throat my head wont let me speak. just die. i cant die. go back to thinking that. it is just a bad dream
Found myself acting like a child after getting really angry. Who am I kidding, there is no one to go to. I am a child after it all, I should be one, why am I like this, why do I all of the sudden, look like this? I am so tired, I am so tired I am so tired I am so tired. I can’t fix myself, neither do I want to. Keep punishing me until one day, eventually, one day, I’ll find myself in bed, small, clueless, pale, free of sins. In a loop of time, there will always be one instance, the eternal cycle of it all, getting ready for the first day of third grade, oxidized pomegranates, nails stuffed with chip dust, crumbled sketchbooks, comic books, tugged tightly , don’t, ever. Everytime, everytime I start writing, I end up right here. All the foreign stories, Minor inconveniences, I’m sorry. When will apologies sound sincere, when will they believe me, I’m too tired to even think about suicide. I don’t . Words just won’t flow together. It amazes me that some people don’t hate me, I don’t even know which part of my thoughts are real. After all, nothing has ever happened to me.
Yesterday I felt like trash, but I think I am getting better after all. I’m not sure if it’ll all be reset this winter, who knows. Although whenever I see anyone close to me I’ll think of their reaction after my death, for the first time in years, I can actually talk about the future, my future. For the first time in years, in the flash of a second, I genuinely saw myself in the future: miserable, but still alive. 20,30,40,50,60. For a second I genuinely wanted to live. As frightening as it is, I won’t quit for now, I am scared of the reaction of my family, I still want to. Already, the thought to continue living disappeared, that’s alright, there’s no rush, I can still strangle whenever I want to, I can still write about it whenever I want to, I can die anytime, as long as I won’t mind my mother killing herself after she discovers my body. I can’t, not for now. I shouldn’t be talking about this, I’ve just gotten a bit better after all.
a sheet of metal under the skin. limbs freezing up, words disappearing quickly into nothing, sometimes I don’t know if i was truly traumatized, or was I acting it out? the only audience ever in the room, the everlasting presence of a woman sobbing under the bed, anything else other than that I don’t remember.
As soon as possible, as soon as possible, a dead young person equalizes to a failed investment, the quicker you pull away the better. A steady decline without bumps, the image, tainted blue, purple, red, brown, on cold pressed watercolor pads, a locked room. On and on, then every story merges into your own, vivid yet it isn’t there at all. That disgustingly cliche Chinese tune, the Buddhist hums, all fake, all for show, the music she plays on her speakers. A different person. Selfishly I wish I had been raped, age of nine, corner with a book in my hand for silent reading, had I not walked away I would have more things to draw about, more questions to answer. a hundred fifty seven dreams recorded down, shopping malls, running fleeing from one place to another, then I realized I am normal, nothing is wrong with me at all. What happened yesterday, the day before that, last week, last year, the year before that? Backlight of the keyboard fading into black-Enter, come in. Somehow if you read enough of an author you start to adopt their memories, as if I can skip the pretty words to recite Eileen Chang for her. Only when i need the world to turn overwhelmingly beautiful I can’t bring a single piece of the past back. Broken promises, foreign porcelain tiles, mold and separated milk, half clear toned yellow half gelatinized like custard, spiders behind the curtain, the curtain sun shines through everyday, shutter binds that closes all day, fingers off the keyboard, airplanes, strings of light sliding through the crevice of each pieces, paint. All i know is to hide this part of myself. to monetize it, to televise it, to dissect one’s own body under the bright daylight, each organs so delicate and pink and red and brown, glossed up with blood, displaying under the sun. thoughts, knowing the exact texture, how much pressure i need to cut my mouth open with a scissor, the blades getting stuck, all imagination, the way drain cleaner would burn and be sour and bitter and floral if I had drank it, all imagination, all talks no action, “how to become mute, what household product would harm the vocal cord” trying, wanting to shut myself up so hard but now for a future, to live i have to put all i have on display. Yesterday, the texture of a blade slicing the skin open, pushing down, the defense of bones, dragging, sliding, pulling, all imagination of the texture. I don’t think I have aphantasia. I’m completely normal, so there’s no need to continue talking about the fake things I do to impress my own thoughts. How dry it is here even as a sea side city, how humid that town was in the summer, a thin layer of sweat, marks of eyebrow pencil rubbed down by the hair. When I look back there isn’t even a trace left, a footprint in the sand. Everything’s clear, this is all normal. and only the human body, thin skin, the curves of ribs, pointy collar bones, sharp hips, concaved abdomen, breasts like holding a soft fig, which you so desperately try to trace with your pen, body of the adolescence, an outside observer. before it all, there was birth, climbing out of one woman, another, soon to be molded to anything, the birth of the human skin.
There’s no part of me left, who I originally was. Nobody in the fucking world is willing to take some time to listen, nobody understands what I’m saying despite myself making perfect sense. I don’t want to write poems draw pictures however the fuck to solve the issue. This anger lingers onto everybody, everything, close friends and family, sometimes I fall into loops of thinking about
of course I won’t and I’m just being a terrible person
I don’t know who I am or how I feel, as of now it’s just a loop of imagery. I’ve turned into a horrible person. I wish I could go back to a year ago with the terrible self esteem because now it has gone to the polar opposite, the dumb fucking thoughts that everyone who doesn’t love me can die. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. I want to wash myself out of this, I want to stop hating myself and everyone I want to stop running around in a circle. I’m not even that ill anymore yet im back here again. I just want to be normal, but I don’t know what that’s like. Why can’t anyone see that nobody deserves anything? I need to give up, I’m not worthy to be conscious
sorry for the language, sorry, sorry for taking up your time. I was very angry over a minor issue minutes ago, I don’t know. I can’t seem to be myself anywhere. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You must think I’m a miserable stupid *****, sorry for the language I’m really out of words at this point. Sorry for being the one that’s wasting oxygen here…I’m the worst out of all of them. Sorry. I hate people who don’t hate themselves. Still no diagnosis, they laugh at me being worried that I’m going to get worse, not just depression and things, its not even that bad at this time of the year but I don’t know. I know I should kill myself. I don’t understand why the things that come out of my mouth don’t make sense anymore, I don’t know why I think about numbers so much, or marbles, i don’t know why I want to take a knife and kill my best friend, I won’t, really I won’t, it just feels better that I confess it. I don’t know why I turned out like this, I don’t know if I can even read their mind anymore. Are they really thinking about how bad of a person I am? I am not aware of everything but I am, i won’t be the one to drag myself out. always the one to answer my own sentences, “then there really is no way out” “sorry, I can’t think of a solution” starting with anger once again I come to the conclusion that I’m a terrible person and I deserve every second of life as punishment. Being born itself is a mistake, even when I was born I caused my family so much trouble. To answer everything, the answer of everything, I don’t know anymore. I never know what I’m saying or doing, get back on track, the answer of everything is always the same, I should kill myself. Sorry for taking up your time, I’m just ranting I’ll get better soon, it’s fascinating how every one of these end the same “I’ll get better, sorry” every perspective merging altogether and it’s troubling. Because I can only be one! There is only one me! Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying, no I do, but shut up, I’m going to end this here, please let no one see this pathetic post, really truly sorry for taking up your time, I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t kill myself, this winter is going to be scary, I don’t know how bad it’ll go on year after year, i said I would end it last year, everything’s wrong. Sorry, this time I’m really going to shut myself up. I think repressing everything’s turning me weird, I’m not upset anymore, this time I’m really going to shut myself up.
if I hate myself before they do, then they won’t have to
I wont have to hear it from them, but I can read their mind, everyday, them talking through my head: “you’re such a piece of shit, hopefully I won’t ever have to deal with you again”
It was vertigo. A heady, insuperable longing to fall. We might also call vertigo the intoxication of the weak. aware of his weakness, a man decides to give in rather than stand up to it. He is drunk with weakness, wishes to grow even weaker, wishes to fall down in the middle of the main square in front of everybody, wishes to be down, lower than down.
i want to die.
i’ve been having terrible, terrible nightmares. the locations in my dreams are consistent, there’s a whole world, i can always remember and recognize the places, i can even draw out a map if i want to. the dreams are so complex, i can’t even write them out, there’re ridiculous, they’re so obscure i just can’t express the scenes in words. i don’t want to dream anymore. it’s so disgusting, even, the dreams. i’ve been free from them for almost a month, but yesterday the dreams got physcial. i don’t do drugs, but i felt like i had a really bad trip. before i fell asleep i was lying in my bed, i woke up, in the dream, in my bed, the exact same place. i started to feel phsycal pain, my skin started tightening up on me, i stopped being myself as a whole and i became the flesh that’s under the skin,faces started appearing in front of me, as they often do, and i couldn’t move, i couldn’t scream, it’s so painful, mentally, and maybe physically, it was terrifying, i was sure that i was going to die until i woke up. i don’t know why but i thought i should share.it’s all ok now, but i’m still scared. it’s okay, it’s okay , it’ll be okay. i feel like i’m going to go insane. i’m so scared and alone. but i don’t want anyone close to me to know. i feel like i shouldn’t be aging, i’m not a child anymore, but i don’t remember being one, i just want to go back to how things were, i just want to feel loved again, i just want to be normal again. but everything is already far from being fixed, and i’ll drown in my own imagination before i truly run out of options and time. why did things turn out this way? i just want to disappear. i’ve reminded myself of everything but it won’t take long for the thoughts to settle back to the back of my head. i’m taking psychology in school right now, it’s so comedic, i try to not to stop distracting myself, i’m crying again, but it’s quick for everything to be forgotten again, just like that, i’ve become a stranger to myself again.
I tried to hang myself on the rail of the bed today, I couldn’t do it. I feel like I’m slipping away again. I watch my life happen in front of me like a film.
i dont recognize anyone on this site anymore.
it never gets better
I went out and bought some items I could kill myself with, I was feeling so light and relaxed. There’s no need for worrying that I’m going insane anymore. No therapist, no medicine, nobody knows, and I’m ready to do it, i was ready to do it. 5 days left.
It’s so obscure, it’s so funny. The store on google map had a status of “open from 9-7”, yet it was closed when I went there, permanently. I looked through the scratched glass coated in a fume of wood chips and dust, it was all grey. Last time I walked pass it it was open, fully stocked, ready for any customer’s attempt of suicide.
this website doesn’t allow method sharing, however I had a painless method figured out. The last time I went there-why didn’t I go in? It was so easy. Everything’s interrupted, I have to order some online. It won’t come on the day I plan to die and the work that I imagined will be gone. I had my mind set up, at last, isn’t it funny? Just because of a closed shop, everything, everything. I don’t want to go for the second plan, nobody wants the second plan, everyone just wants to die in peace. It’s selfish, it’s too much to ask for. I keep talking to myself and I look crazy, I told myself that it’ll all be over. It’s so funny, as if I’m in some sort of dark comedy, I wasn’t shocked, I didn’t feel anything, yet the little banner on the door pushed me out of the perfect ending, the only ending. Nothing ever goes my way.
Nobody knows the shit I’ve done to myself nobody will see nobody will come nobody will know anything there’s something inside me pull me out of my skin I want to die I want to die I can’t hear anything I can’t remember anything I can’t I hate myself I hate myself I hate I hate I hate I hate I wanted to say something nobody cares nobody in the world will accept me I can’t go anywhere the world has abandoned me and I just have to make it on my own over and over again my head is fucked I’ve gone insane a long time ago end it for me end it for me I want to die I want to die I want to die I need to die I want to die I can’t I don’t deserve anything there’s nothing more of a.privilege to be normal there’s nothing more I want to be normal the luck the happiness what’s happiness I’m tired of faking it I’m tired of keeping everhjbg in my head I’m going crazy I’m going to die crying doesn’t release anything I need to strangle myself but the weather isn’t cold enough for me to wear high necks all the time I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to die there’s nobody deserves nobody deserve their happiness why me god why I want to say help me but nobody can and I can’t save myself I can’t I can’t I can’t all I do is hide it in my head until I feel like this I want to die god god god god god I’m only so young why me how is it going to be like when I’m older help help but I don’t deserve help I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to die the world is a blur but I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t don’t come don’t come I don’t want anyone to know but it hurts so much if does I can’t say anything I don’t want to see the doctor I don’t want to take medicine I don’t want to have the notmality I’ve faked all this time to be taken away Lock me up in a psychiatric hospital I cabt I can’t kill myself I don’t want them to cry I don’t want to be seen as the coward god I don’t deserve anything nobody deserves to be happy I hate it I hate how superior they are I hate how jealous I feel they’ll never know that I’m like this pray for me there’s something stuck in my throat my head is killing me I can’t I can’t does that make me less of a person if I don’t slit my wrist or attempt suicide for real I don’t want to ruin this I don’t want to do something wrong again why do they compare why do I compare my head is killing me god doesn’t exist nobody is coming and I’ll wake up in the morning not recognizing one word I’ve wrote until I break absolutely the fuck down like this again
down below is some stuff i wrote for myself to read, it’s my attempt of exploring my relationship with suicide and death. i wrote this in a different language and i simply ran it through google translate, this might be unreadable, but i thought i should post something here once in a while.
everything i’ve wrote is deeply, deeply personal, i’ve never shared an analysis of my mind this personal and in detail before, on anywhere. i might come back and archive this, and also, i feel deeply insecure about my real age, i feel so bad for being this age because i feel like nothing in my head truly means anything. please know that all i feel and say in this translated text is deeply real. i feel like i could be ten years younger, or twenty years older, but not in a age like this. it’s almost shameful. because of how many people my age that’s been exaggerating their negative thoughts, i feel like i might be lying to myself too.
i feel fine by the way, i’m probably not going to kill myself this year, i think. just deeply numb and i’ve been feeling far away from reality as i was writing this, sorry again if the text is hard to read. again, it’s translated from another language through google translate and i just went with my flow of consciousness.
(It may be a suicide note, if I die this is my suicide note, if I did not commit suicide then this is an ordinary record)
The (*please let me keep it a secret) year of life is about to come.
In the past () years, I have not tried to commit suicide, but I have never done it seriously, with a mortal heart, and even planned any steps until last year or in recent years.
In the beginning, to bring the memory back to the beginning, I must write it down. Remember things, or remember things that need to be remembered, I need to write them down.
Death has been hanging in the stream of my vague memory, like a tree branch floating on the water, like the dazzling white sunlight on a sparkling day, like the gray and black mist that cannot be shaken off in a cloudy sky.
There has never been any misunderstanding about death, at least I can’t remember what the day of death was like. The first memory is that I was lying on a cloth sofa in one of my homes, seas and sky, with a foggy ceiling and a fuzzy eggshell-colored time and space, and I was crying in that small space. Because the second aunt will die, because my mother will die, because everyone will die, so will I. At that time, I felt that the death of my grandparents was something more distant, like a tree. The older I got, the more vigorous and sturdy, the more I was loved by everyone. I realized that I probably wouldn’t cry at their funeral. Words. I don’t know, because they are not dead yet, and I even think I will die before them.
Everything will end, of course. When a person reaches a certain age, he will begin to lose one by one and the things around him, including life, health, and the sense of being alive. Still in Haitianyuan, the earliest memory of dreaming. The gray-blue bedroom, first my parents’ bedroom, then my parents’ bedroom, and then my sister’s, was finally abandoned in the dust.
Dreams are slices of frosted thin glass, stacked squares or rectangles, after being illuminated by sunlight for a long time, it turns like rice paper wrapped in candied haws. The shape is no longer clear, the content is no longer clear, and the pieces blend into one piece. I digressed, now I will talk about my dream.
The first dream was in the middle of the night, in the faint blue bedroom, but with yellow light, it was impossible to describe the color. These were useless to the reader.
My dream is in that bedroom, and I float. There is another dream that has been integrated into the honey paper: I received a machine that said that I would die in a day or a few hours. What a real dream! I was so scared, I woke up with the chests of mom and dad beside me, “you won’t die, it’s just a dream.”
The fear of death entangled me in kindergarten for two or three days. I think so, then I didn’t dare or deliberately didn’t think about it.
Ahhhhh, keep on remembering.
Then, a harder sum, an exam, the third or fourth year end of the year, got c. I remember I put my head on the bed, I cried and cried, I don’t know if it was for grades or my parents or crying on my own, my life seemed to end there.
Simply, the thought of wanting to die.
From kindergarten to the fourth grade of elementary school, there are only poetic scene fragments that I have torn apart, in which there have been countless quarrels, countless crying and roaring countless countless countless countless countless countless countless countless countless countless, all of which I should remember, but I forgot.
Negative thoughts are not uncommon after the fifth grade, although I probably have not been a “good girl” since the second grade. Later, I jokingly confessed to my mother: “I used to be acting.” Mom didn’t believe it, then I didn’t believe it either. Maybe I was really a pure, clean, clever and well-behaved child. I should remember, but I forgot.
I experienced a crush that I brainwashed myself in elementary school. I fell in love with a guy with the same surname as me and sitting next to me. I remember looking at two “boys you can like” when I was in the first grade. I chose one and kept repeating “You like him” to myself. But who knows? I also have a good impression of the guy I didn’t choose. Maybe I like both of them, but it doesn’t matter. Why am I writing about my crush in elementary school? I do not know. In the past few years, the spiritual gray has gradually spread to the memories of the past, and those memories that should have been colored in childhood have also become thinner, except for the swings, summer nights, eternal sea and sand that I have stuck in the gully of my brain. , The only beautiful memory in my life.
It doesn’t matter, but after I was in middle school, I instilled a similar crush on myself. It was still the process of falling in love with someone. After the fiasco, I would never like people normally. Later, I was touched all over my thigh by a male friend at a party. I didn’t stop him, because my God! No one has ever touched my body like that, like touching an unfamiliar animal. For a while, I actually regarded the dopamine rooted in the body and the happiness of being “demanded” as love. It is not an exaggeration to say that it is very comfortable when touched by that person. He didn’t do anything special, just touched his leg and shook his wrist. My wrist is very thin, so it can be completely held by one hand.
Because since I was little, I have always been a child who is hungry for attention. I was in the third or fourth grade one afternoon, when a senior boy touched my crotch and blocked it in a corner without a camera. He tried to kiss me. All I knew was to block him with the book in his hand.
I still remember the dialogue: “What are you doing”, “Touching”, blocking the corner, he said to me “Touching you”, I blocked his mouth with a book, and he asked “Otherwise you touch me?” My own pants, I shook him off and went to class.
No one knows, I searched on the Internet, this is obscenity, but why didn’t I leave a trauma? Instead, those quarrels and rainy days pierced my brain severely. I’ve been eager for attention, is that right? Is it because I am a lascivious person that I feel comfortable? Why do I like the feeling of being longed so much?
The attention is also true. I performed desperately when I was in kindergarten, desperately striving for the first place, and being a good daughter and student, but in the end I was too tired.
Because later I learned that no one in the world deserves anything beautiful, and no one deserves what they have now, including life.
I have always been a person using my own mind and virtual works to fill my desire for sex, for beautiful, normal days, until I suddenly couldn’t capture images in my mind for no reason and became blind. people. I am analyzing myself, but this does not mean that I understand or I understand who I am. I’m recording the story of this identity, but not me, not my current story.
Later, after countless negative memories, I think I was not too normal at that time. I was relieved when my mother found the invoice of the woman’s skirt in the father’s suitcase. It wasn’t that I made a mistake this time. I suddenly emptied and couldn’t feel anything. I went up the stairs and yelled, “This time it’s not because of my quarrel. “, then went back to the room. When I was in the fifth grade, I had a quarrel with my mother. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep writing, I thought I might break down.
In the fifth grade, after I quarreled with my mother, we would stand in a cold war. In the second half of the fifth year, from the sixth to the eighth grade, I was emptied for an instant after the quarrel. All the sadness and anger disappeared, and I could not remember exactly what the quarrel was for, but I would be shy and shamelessly take a tissue to soothe cry. My mother, it seems that I have never been sad before crying, even singing loudly. You know, I didn’t think about myself carefully two years ago.
Obviously those who are somber are worse than the people around me who sell badly, but I don’t know if they are younger, because I forgot. This is a very healthy and environmentally friendly way of dealing with emotions. I don’t know why it happens, but it is natural and it should be healthy.
Now I will still forget what happened after the collapse, but the pain and maddening emotions will not leave me, but will erode me until I have no strength to resist, or lurking under an emotional fold. I think that when I hurt myself and strangled my neck, I would still feel the relief and lightness of elementary school, and even get a kind of ritual satisfaction. Even more, I will look at myself from the perspective of the second person in the room, and I will feel that this morbid state is so beautiful that it completes me, even if it is wrong and sad.
I digressed a lot. I wrote about my memories on the suicideproject website. At that time, I ran out of the house when my parents quarreled and sat on the highest part of the playground. My mind was probably dumb. I was chasing a crow to kill it, thinking that someone would come to me, I will jump off there.
When I typed these words, I didn’t feel it at all. There were no words in my head. As always, my fingertips were thinking for me. I still have to clarify that these “when I want to die” are not everything that I wrote down. I can’t write them all, countless times, countless countless times, I can only write the deepest, or remember the clearest times. .
Then in (my home country), it was probably the summer of 2018. After a quarrel with my whole family, I was to be crazy. I was standing on the balcony on the fourth floor, holding the handrails. No, you can’t die, you can’t die in (), otherwise your family will lose face, everyone will know, and I will hold a funeral here. But now think about it, whether it is jumping from the rope ladder or the balcony on the fourth floor, it is hard to die.
Then it was still in (). Anyway, every time I went back to (), the whole family would quarrel fiercely, and every time I would probably get into a depression. But I still like (), because it is beautiful, because () is (), and it is the place where I should have existed if not for all this.
I remember when I was in the ninth grade, there was a time when I went home and cried until I put down my schoolbag, cried until I fell asleep, went downstairs to finish eating, went upstairs to continue crying, and then fell asleep until dawn. that was the beginning to the mental illness i have now. Maybe there is no such thing, maybe it didn’t happen, I really can’t remember.
Then, in 2019, ah, 2019, 2019, if I want to remember, I probably remember it clearly, but I don’t want to remember it, just say it a few times.
Once I used a wire on the curtain rack and stuck my neck in it jokingly. It was obviously not dead, because I was joking with myself, maybe I didn’t want to die at all.
Then it was the second time, using wires in the bathroom. At that time, the relationship between my mother and me was so bad and so bad. In the dark, I wanted to just run away like that. It was really the phone, not my fault, but mother I yelled so much that I couldn’t breathe. At that time, I was very tired and tired outside of home. I was so anxious that I felt numb and I was about to die. I was immersed in my emotions in the winter. in. After I got home, I ran upstairs thinking about dying soon. The wires were hanging in the bathroom. I didn’t die. It was still like a joke to myself, because I didn’t bring myself to kill myself. The determination did not even hang up the line. (The whole family was there at that time, could it be this spring? I can’t remember)
What then? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
On New Year’s Eve 2019-2020, I think I can die, but I didn’t do anything except post “I want to die before 2020” on the Internet.
I don’t want to write anything else. The year before last year, I wanted to take over-the-counter painkillers. But I planned a perfect plan in the depths of a certain depression.
34 days left.
140 days became 34 days.
I wonder if I can kill myself.
I can’t grow up.
Can you stop time.
I don’t want to write anymore, that’s it, goodbye.
I can’t fucking do this, I can smell the humidity in the air, the scent of summer and the dirt and cicada and the leaves with holes that bugs chew out. The dirty manmade pond and water, the moss and mold, the dirty plaster walls and how I dug and drew on it witb the keys to the only place I knew home. The stickiness in the palms of children holding their money and coins thinking that one comic book and some crossfire skin was all they need in being alive. The oxidized metals and plastic and rusty bikes layed in layers of spiderwebs and dusts in the underground parking lot. The sticky screen of iPhone 5, the novels the books the smell of dust the smell of badly ventilated rooms and spaces and that was all, everything. I can’t ever go back, I never saw how precious it was, my only chance as a child I wasted it and I’m not ready. Please don’t take my time away I never grew up from those summers. The quiet shade under the leaves of plane trees and the scent of plants and real life. Without the heat I’m nothing, without the child’s body I’m not supposed to be alive.
i want to kill myself before my birthday.
today is the first time i looked back at my posts, i feel so sorry that i never replied to many comments people left for me, but you know…it’s too late to reply now. it’s funny, at first i couldn’t shut up about my mental state to the point where i had to disable my own social media account, now i’m able to stay completely silent, because i no longer feel a thing. the first time i posted about not having a inner monologue was probably the winter of 2019, i remember the first time i had symptoms of depersonalization, they are just symptoms because i never went to see a doctor or anything. sorry, i know how annoying this is, the whole self diagnosing thing…sorry. back to what i was saying, the winter of 2019 i complained about not having thoughts or having no inner monologue, and it’s happening to me again, and, sorry, i can’t really form clear sentences right now, sorry if this is hard to read.
it only happened to me for a night or so before, at least that night was the only time i could remember, but now it’s been happening for weeks, i think, i feel so far away from myself, my voice, my…own head. you might ask “how are you writing this with no thoughts” the thing is, i really dont have a better way to explain this, i know that the thought of not having any thoughts are also thoughts n their own but i feel like i’ve been blanking out for the past week…and i can’t remember. i hate how desperately im trying to prove that i’m ok, i just…i feel so weird, or i should feel weird, yet i can’t, i can’t, i can’t think, i can’t feel a thing, i don’t remember, my memories feel so far away, my fingers on the keyboard feels far away. my head is blank right now but i can force myself to have a inner monologue only when i’m writing something down, as if the pen is thinking for me, as if i’m thinking through the pen, the keyboard, the letters on the screen.
60 something days left. i have a plan, i had a plan for a while but i dont know…i don’t know, when’s a better time to do this? it’s probably better if i die in the numb stage, but what if i live and the method fucks my body up and i’ll have to live with a damaged brain for the rest of my life? i dont know!!!!i dont!!!! this should have ended a long time ago, i never thought i’d live to this age, this is enough, to close my eyes here, young and beautiful forever.i want to kill myself before my birthday, i don’t know, i don’t know what i wanted to write about, i can’t hear myself, only when i type and i read the letters on the screen i can hear something. i’m fucked up,i’m not, i don’t know, again, i don’t know, please just send me back into an episode, at least then i will be able to function again, i’ll be able to cry again, i feel like a fucking robot. i drew a story, an abstract story sorry this sounds so pretentious i don’t know how to express myself but i have to write it down. i drew a story about my mental state and i realized that i couldn’t share it anywhere…because it’s too personal, showing it to strangers is going to be like stripping myself naked, yet people won’t understand so i don’t know why i’m even saying that, but showing it to anyone will be as if i stripped myself naked, lied on the bed and let non surgeons to cut myself apart to see my intestines, will they be shy when they see the light of day? it won’t happen, i’m not picking that method anyways, i hope i don’t kill myself, but i’m running out of time, maybe i’m already out of time. thank god i can at least think through my fingertips, the screen and the keyboard, my words are all mixed up, my thoughts are swimming in chaos, i hope this ends soon.
im tired of being like this, tired of overthinking, tired of sharing and not sharing tired of you telling me you know it but you don’t l’m tired of hearing false shit made up by myself knowing I’m comepletely fucking autistic. I’m tired of thinking that I deserve to get walked over on but when I do it still hurts l’m tired of letting you know l’m tired of keeping it to myself. I’m tired of the memories, l’m tired of the days I can’t go back to but do you know? But can you see? Contradictions over and over again what’s seemingly pretentious what’s real and fake l wish it could just let me go
It hurts so much, I just want to stop thinking, I jusg want to stop being aware of it. Is it true or false? Telling myself they hate you they hate you they hate you but you matter so little to them that they don’t even bother to feel anything towards you but is that true? I hate myself so much I can’t breathe, I hate myself so much I’m going insane. All I can hear, all I can comprehend is that they hate me and I do too but what is true? What is real? Are my thoughts right because I’m never right but I don’t know I don’t know my mind is killing me. Nobody will know. I hate myself so much I can’t go on. I’m this and I’m that and my thoughts and emotions are jumping all over the place. Time and future is a far away concept, all I can see is a dead end? I don’t want anything anymore. I can’t recognize myself anymore, however I try to put it there’s no way out and I’m tired. The thoughts are strangling me harder than the times I pulled on the rope. Love and nothing but love, hate and nothing but hate. It will all be ok soon but you know it won’t.