To the kid I know who tallies and flaunts his half-hearted suicide attempts as if they are trophies,
You disgust me. A suicide attempt is only called that because it is an attempt to commit suicide, not something to write about on popular social media sites in an attempt to gain respect or something. You haven’t even been to the hospital. Two cuts across your arm is not a suicide attempt. Eating salt and calling it “iodine” is not a suicide attempt. Jumping off your bunk bed will get you nowhere. Stop taking suicide so lightly. It makes those who are serious about it look […]
I won’t be tied to anyone, then.
It wouldn’t matter if I killed myself.
I think about it all the time now.
It’s a warm source of hope in the back of my mind.
It comforts me immensely.
13 months from now I could be dead.
This lady came to my school today and talked about the dangers of dark magic. She talked about demon possession and how she was able to conjure spirits when she was in high school. I find it all entirely fascinating, but I am getting far too caught up in the dark world for it to be safe anymore. I feel constantly trapped in darkness and emptiness. I am never happy anymore. I have nothing to live for. I stopped using drugs and cutting nearly six weeks ago, and everything has grown worse, instead of better, since then. Everything is a constant battle. Far too often, […]
I haven’t in over a month, but I can’t stand to see this person hurt themselves. Maybe it won’t even help. Is it worth it?
I have nothing to look forward to.
I have it all planned out.
It would work this time.
I have no friends.
It was confirmed yesterday.
Do you remember several weeks ago when I said that I hadn’t killed myself because I was afraid of disappointing two people?
My art teacher and my track coach.
But I have ruined that now.
And I have disappointed both of them.
Neither of them have any particular interest in me anyways.
I have no idea what to do with my life.
No one to help me.
No one who genuinely cares.
No one who has said that they love me in a long, long time.
It would be so easy.
Easy and […]
I will be 17 in 8 days. Either I have 8 days to pursue death, or I have 8 days to make myself okay with the fact that I am still alive.
I would talk about the way layers of burned flesh rolled off my wrist in the shower and the feeling that the drugs produced when snorted instead of swallowed. I would tell of the extreme dizziness, the pounding headache, and the thick fog I was in; the muffled sobbing and the uncontrollable shaking while laying on the cold, hard bathroom floor at 2 am. I would describe how my body screamed to escape while there was still a chance, but my mind said that I was already too far gone. I would tell of how I just wanted to swallow all my pills and […]
I’m only alive because
of the smell of blacktop on a humid day after
it rains; and rain itself—thunderstorms
lightning thrills like riding in the car with
my brother; loud music of the
“i don’t give a fuck” type
and running; holding breath dizzy
passing out on grass–wet grass; alcohol
burning my mouth–tingling and drugs;
the feeling of living that isn’t
real and sunrise; a new beginning fresh start
clean sheets; white pure and snow; dark quiet
night–talking, skater boys; in the park smoking
under the gazebo; stars bright—Orion
finding trees in the stars because
I am dead
on the inside;
the smell of cold—death; […]
How do normal people handle overwhelming amounts of stress?
When you say that you will kill yourself and it will be all my fault, it is harassment. When you say that I must say that I love you or you will kill yourself, that is blackmail and harassment. The only thing that I have done is offered advice and tried to help you. Why are you doing this to me? What do I do?
You hurt me. Again and again you hurt me. But still I turn to you for help. I need you, but you don’t fucking care. It’s gotten to the point that I could be dead and you would laugh. “Good riddance,” you would say while shrieking with that hysterical laugh you get sometimes.
I just want to end it tonight.
I’ve got it all planned out.

I’ve been thinking about it for awhile. 

There’s nothing stopping me.
It will work this time. 

It has to.
Three times I rewrote it. 
Then I cut. Deep. I watched my blood flow with complete serenity. 
That wouldn’t kill me, but the collection of pills by my bed surely would. This time I had more than enough. I wouldn’t fail this time. 
This is it. 
Then I remembered her face. That look of pure terror she wore as she died. As I watched her kill herself. Can I really do this?
I ate three normal meals. 
I forced myself not to think about how many calories were burrowing into my body. 
Now I feel sick, disgusting, and fat. 
I have come to like the feeling of empty. 
This recovery thing is not going to work. I. Can’t. Do. It.
She was like the queen of this site. Whatever happened with her?
Every time I cut I thought that I would be able to stop whenever I wanted. Once I tried to stop, though, I realized that I’ll never be able to escape the burning, desperate urge to harm my own body.
I post something that I believe in and stand for on tumblr and I get 100 notes. 100 people who disagree with me. 100 people who don’t respect my opinion. 100 people who judge me for something that I believe is wrong. 23 people who took the time to tell me to kill myself. 23 people who have decided that they will suggest lovely ways on how I could kill myself. 23 people who couldn’t care less that it is a human they’re sending those messages to. So are we all entitled to our own opinion? Of course. Will we be respected for that opinion? […]
They tell me to kill myself. They say the world would be a happier place if I were dead. I agree with them completely. Why can’t I bring myself to fulfill what they say?
The feeling that things could not possibly get worse. When you are not even as much depressed as you are angry. When you feel like destroying something and throwing things around. When you sit in class and it takes all the energy you can possibly muster to not scream or have a mental breakdown. Where you are desperately trying to just stay sane. That’s where I am now. I’m trapped. And they all hate me.
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