But what the fuck does it matter when he treats me as a friend?
Yes, even pretty girls can end up in the friend zone.
Fuck this situation.
A girl who got tired of living in agony.
Do you know what it feels like to be strangled to death? First, you feel the pressure in your throat. Your eyes water, and you start to taste something very, very sour in your mouth. Then it’s like someone lights a match right in the middle of your chest, and that fire grows. It fills your lungs, and your throat, and all the way behind your eyes. And finally, that fire turns to ice; like pins and needles of ice are sticking into your fingers, your toes, your arms. You see stars, then darkness. And the last thing you feel… is cold.
Rope and pills are a hand’s-breadth from me, decision has been made again. Nice clothes and make-up are on, well I can’t face death in my sweatpants, I am a lady.
I thought I found love, but I am thrown away again.
I am a fucking borderline, I can’t stand this. I will never have anybody to stand me, to love me like I could love.
I was hospitalized for three times, nothing changed, suicide has been always the way out for me and now it’s time again.
Bye SP, don’t be me. Have a good life.
Today after I got fired from my shitty job, and after finding out that the plant what I believed to be hemlock was wild carrot (which almost looks like hemlock) leaving me without any peaceful way to go, I decided to go to psych hospital voluntarily tomorrow. I searched for any other poisoning plants but I had no luck. I tasted oleander, but I knew I would threw up after the first leave because it tasted bitter af and I can’t stand bitter things. Fuck, even my life is bitter enough.
I know I wouldn’t harm myself in violent ways like slicing and dicing, or hang myself, because I tried and it’s painful as shit, or I can list anything bloody and painful, but I won’t – but the way I feel now is dangerous, and I don’t want an attempt again making my parents extremely sad and leaving me fucking alive again. So I seeked for help, told my mother everything and asked her to call my doctor and tell her that I will go tomorrow. She ofcourse agreed, I mean my doc, and promised me that she won’t put me in psych ward when your every move is watched by cameras, 3 cigarettes a day, and other shit. So at least I can make ceramics again (last time I was there I made some pretty dope things), and I can attend creative groups. I downloaded a shit ton of Robin Cook books too to keep me somewhat entertained.
Cross your fingers for me.
Just went through my options again, but found only painful or no-can-do options again. I saw photos of dead suicide bodies in many ways just to get used to it that some day, when I’ll be brave or something, I will look like them.
I am alone. I am so fucking alone that I have no one to talk to, no one to have fun with. I am not myself, not the girl I was. Fuck, I was a woman, a grown up woman and now I am a train wreck.
I know from the day I first visited this web site, that it’s a sign of trouble, when I am here. And here I am again, feeling down, planning to end it. It’s been over 7 months since I’ve been extremely suicidal. I had ups and downs, but I am down again, and I want out again. Fuck this life. I shouldn’t be bornt ever.
Been a long time again. In 25 days I will be in London looking for a job and stuff. Up till then I have nothing to do. Nothing. I have no job. I just workout. My days are so boring. Sometimes I walk my dog, I love him, he is so playful, he makes me happy and laugh.
On the suicide front I think I have made a progress. I think less, way less then before, but I still have thoughts. I have a scar, a scar deeper than every single scar added up into one big one in me and it is still on my mind sometimes. My tattoo reminds me not to do any stupid things, to move on with my life, but it also reminds me of the pain I feel inside.
I haven’t been here in a while… Which sounds good. It means I am trying to move on and maybe I will succeed.
And I got my dream catcher tattoo which I was really excited about.
I am still planning my working in London, I just need a little more money to live through the first month without any payment.
So here is me. I am not saying that I am recovered. I still have bad thoughts as my doctor would say (‘Do you have any bad thoughts?’ – I always like this question…), but I am trying to hold on, make myself busy even though I got fired from my work.
I am planning to move to England in 3 months and start to work there. I want to save a big amount of money to take a makeup course. Makeup is what I am truly interested in, it’s a beautiful art to me and I have the skills to it. This is my future plan. Oh, and a tattoo on my wrist to cover my scars. The little beads will be torquoise and the bigger one will be poison green.
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