For non-suicidal topics that are fun, entertaining or informative.
Fun & Interesting
Distractify DOT com –
As of 2014, the life expectancy in America is 78.6 years. Divide that up, and this is how the average person spends their lifetime.
1 . You spend 25 years sleeping.
2 . You work for 10.3 years.
The average American works 40 hours a week from ages 20-65.
3 . You spend 48 days having sex.
A recent survey found that during the average sex session, foreplay lasts 7 minutes and intercourse 12 minutes.
4 . Women spend 17 years of their lives trying to lose weight.
This means being on one form of diet or another.
5 . You watch TV for 9.1 years.
Watching TV accounts for half of all leisure time, about 2.8 hours per day.
6 . You spend 2 years watching commercials.
7 . You spend 1.1 years cleaning.
Women have historically spent twice as much time as men, though the statistic is shifting.
8 . You spend 2.5 years cooking.
9 . You spend 3.66 years eating, about 67 minutes a day.
The total amount of food you consume in a lifetime is close to 35 tons.
10 . You drive a car for 4.3 years.
In that time, you’ll cover enough distance to go to the moon and back 3 times.
11 . You spend 3 months of your life in traffic, about 38 hours a year.
12 . You spend 1.5 years in the bathroom.
The average person goes 6 times a day.
13 . You spend a total of 92 days on the toilet.
Men spend 4 more minutes on the toilet than women daily.
14 . You spend 70% of our waking life in front of digital media.
15 . You laugh out loud 290,000 times in your life.
About 10 times per day.
16 . You walk a total of 110,000 miles.
That’s equivalent to 4 times around the world.
17 . You spend 90% of your time indoors.
That’s 71 of your 78.6 years.
18 . You consume .1 teaspoons of alcohol per day.
That’s 1,442 gallons in a lifetime.
19 . You have between 4 and 6 dreams a night for a total of 2,000 a year.
We forget 80% of them.
20 . You fart 402,000 times in your lifetime.
That’s about 14 times per day.
21 . You spend 14 days of your life kissing.
Most people wish it were more.
22 . You drink 12,000 cups of coffee.
That’s about 1.6 cups per day.
23 . If you’re more into tea, you drink 48 pounds in your lifetime.
That’s .75 pounds a year.
24 . Women spend nearly 1 year deciding what to wear.
25 . The average man will spend 1 year staring at women.
26 . Women spend 8 years of their life shopping.
That’s over 1 hour every single day.
27 . Women spend 1.5 years doing their hair.
That’s 14,000 hours brushing, washing, blow-drying, straightening, curling and cutting.
28 . An office worker spends 5 years sitting at a desk.
29 . The average employee spends 2 years sitting in work meetings.
30 . The average person swears 2,000,000 times.
That’s 80-90 times a day.
It feels like my depression isn’t as bad, but it’s only because I feel so emotionless now. I can barley have a conversation with someone, I’m not interested in having a conversation with anyone. My mind feels blank but my head is full.
I have been like this for a couple of days. I have been depressed for a long time but now I finally feel so empty, a lot of the time I’m just staring mid air thinking about nothing. I have no interest in anything and most things just seem boring to me now. I just feel so hopeless, purposeless, like nothing.
Can’t sleep so I’m listening to some tunes, the 3 songs are the types of stuff I like to listen to when I’m in bed.
Always open to song recommendations.
Some of you make think I’m joking. Some of you may think im insane. But I have a story to tell. And it’s completely the truth. My personal experience. Some of you may curse me to hell. And some of you may just understand my plight. But I’m telling you now that i am not trolling you.
As a little girl, like most children, I had an imaginary friend. I would stay up at night talking to her and we would play games. She was a lot older than me, but that didn’t seem to matter because I was the only one who could see her. Eventually, i stopped being able to see her. But i would still hear voices calling out to me. I didn’t know the events that had previously transpired in my house. I never thought of the possibility that she was the one who started it all. In fact, it didn’t even occur to me until recently that she could be the missing piece of the puzzle. You see, strange things had a tendency to happen at my house. And telling this story, even right now, is a huge risk. My heart is already beating faster than normal. Because this isn’t a story of angels and redemption.
If you have ever been attacked by a demon, or been around a ghost, you should know what I’m talking about. You should recognize the fear that is accompanied by their intense gaze. I should probably start with my stepsister. Like most if my family, my stepsister, is religious. However, the intense violence that has captured our family and those around them has gone on for quite sometime. She was probably the first to investigate this matter fully. A long time ago, in the house i stay in (this was my families home long before i was born) there was a couple that stayed here. Like most people who grew angry and discontent with eachother way back when, the wife poisoned her husband with rat poison. The reason they were so angry with eachother was due to the fact that the wife was pregnant and the husband knew that the baby was not his.
In fact, the baby’s skeleton had been found sealed off in my parents old bedroom. They did not involve the police. Why? Because it wasn’t a normal baby. This skeleton had wing appendages, on its skull were two small horns. The whole side of the house it was located on was completely sealed off, including the chimney. The windows had been borded up as well. In fact, the chimney is still sealed. We thought of breaking into it to see what was inside, but we had already woken what was attached to the room. The wife had given birth to her child at home, and realized she had commited a serious crime, an abomination. So, she killed the child. And she killed her husband. Soon after, she also died.
When my family moved in. They had to open up the sealed room so they would have more space. They found the childs bones, the poison, and they swore eachother to secrecy. The woman i played with, she was the mother. I did not find out about any of this until a year ago. They kept the secret that long. Almost 20 years of secrecy. Of course, they did not know about my part in it all until later when they told me. You see, they say there are reasons you don’t mess with things if you don’t know what you’re doing. Ouija is the stupidest thing that a person could do. I’ve always known that. And so is practicing with things you don’t know about, which is what i did.
At 16, i was your typical angst filled teenager. However, i had and still have a strong connection to the dead… actually, i would say that demons are more attracted to me than the dead. The only ghost I’ve really encountered would be the womans, but my encounter with her opened me up to my encounter with her baby’s father. Again, at the time, i didn’t know what i was doing.
When i stopped seeing the woman as a child, something else that i thought was a spirit began to bother me. At first it was just a shadowy figure waking me every night, then came the recurring nightmares. The main one consisted of four figures. All girls. All young. Each one with a different hair color. I never saw their face. Black, brown, red, blonde. The four major hair colors. Each positioned in a white dress walking in place, towards me. Each on the four corners of my yard. Nothing else happened. All they did was walk in place. However, i would wake crying and screaming every night. The shadow looming over me. I had the most difficult time getting proper sleep. Soon, i grew used to the figure. This process took a few years. It didn’t get really bad until i was 16 and more open to the spirits. Instead of just watching me, it began to play jokes on me. Jab me with its finger when i was alone only to laugh at me whem my heart jumped into my throat and i would heavily fall onto the furnature behind me clutching the center of my chest. Appear at ungodly hours shaking my bed and telling me to wake up. The more aggressive it was, the more scared i became.
Eventually, i took to the native American ritual known as smudging and locking everything out of my house with a sort of spell. Its hard to describe. Its like picturing a pure white light in your chest, the light expands from the center to fill your whole body, then explodes. Sticking to the walls like glue and forming bars. No, it doesn’t do that literally. You have to use your imagination and determination for it to work and you have to keep picturing the bars when you look around. So i did that and practiced smudging every once in awhile. The shadow left. The nightmares left.
I grew too comfortable. So imagine my shock when my bed was violently shaking at 5 a.m. six
months later and i was being yelled at. Hesitantly, i peaked out from under my blankets only to see the malevolent black figure hanging over me. Freaking out, i did the only thing i knew how to at that point. And don’t laugh because it is sortof funny but i was scared out of my mind. I took ome look at it. Said “NOPE” and fllipped back over. Of course, my “nope” reaction only lasted two seconds before i curled up into a ball repeatedly telling myself: “It’s not real, it’s not real” and then crying myself to sleep.
The next day, i didn’t take the normal precautions because i knew they wouldn’t work. It was watching me. So instead, i negotiated with it. I think the only reason it listened was because it decided to humor me. So basically, i sat in my room, glaring at my closet and was like: “So… look… im sorry thst i kinda did all that stuff to shut you out, but can you really blame me? I mean seriously, scaring the shit out of someone at 5 in the morning everyday isn’t the best way to get someone to talk to you. So now you know. Uhm… if you want me to talk to you just say so, you don’t have to scare me to get me to talk to you. I’m the only one that can see you so i get why you would bother me but still… just… don’t do that anymore. And if you do, I’ll just have to make my barriers stronger as punishment.” So a few years went by and things were peaceful. It didn’t bother me any more. That was… until last year.
You see, things like that have an impact on the weak willed and susceptible. Aka, my brothers. Why they were so susceptible? They were on pills. The fighting. The violence. The almost killing eachother in the yard… the lame excuses given to the hospitals. Me faking my emotions. At that point, i couldn’t feel anything. I watched my dying father and my dying brother with a stoic face. Of course, they didn’t die. They were taken to the hospital with the lame excuse of “my heart started hurting and i fell in a bush” and “i dont know what happened, i went inside to get a blanket to keep him warm and i just… i dont know”. And of course all of the women involved were crying and screaming. I was the only one who felt nothing, of course, i quickly realized that if i didn’t want to get put into a mental hospital that i needed to pretend. So that’s what i did. I forced myself to cry. I forced myself to act dramatic and hit things. Sorry to jump around, this happened a few years ago, but its one of the many reasons i call my brothers weak willed. So back to last year.
Doing what had become routine to me, i cast a protective elemental circle and connected with a friend of mine via circle to provide strength and protection. Of course, at the time he was also dealing with demons and when we thought we were finished i closed my circle as i normally would and texted him. This was the first time a demon physically atracked me and wasn’t just messing around by moving my furniture or poking me for a laugh. The pain was so intense i fell to my knees. Crawled to my bed. And begged for it to end. I was gasping for air. I almost passed out. I immediately grasped for my phone but the pain was so intense i could barley message my friend. “Syle, help!” And then i dropped the phone.
I layed there for a few minutes. No longer able to move, my phone buzzing over and over as he tried to get me to respond. He gave up after a few minutes and cast another circle. Of course i didn’t know he had until after i was no longer paralyzed from intense pain. Then the pain dissipated. I could move again. And of course i was furious with myself for not staying in my circle a bit longer and casting protection onto my room and myself.
After that i went to my sisters. I learned the names of the demons who had been haunting me. I learned of the woman, her child, and her husband. I was shown what was left of the skeleton and the poison. I was shown the pictures. We scoured over books and websites to solve our problem. We salted the yard. We placed pure iron nails from an old railroad track into the dirt. And we went about our lives, i won’t tell you the demon’s name. Because to speak its name is to summon it. I haven’t said that name since we put it all behind us. But it’s not over. It’s waiting. And i don’t know when it will attack next.
I have found that a way to help you figure out things is to analyze your dreams. I know some of them are seemingly meaningless, but it seems to help me. Also sharing them with others help as well. Here are a few of my own:
*warning, this first one is a bit gross*
- I mashed a bump and instead of puss coming out, I pulled a neuron out of my skin.
- My local college was located in a swamp. A former friend and I wore old time dresses (Gothic era) with petticoats. I found a book of nautical poetry and began to read it. The buildings were made of wood and looked similar to old captains cabins.
- I ordered a cake that was a few inches long, but the one brought to me was made in feet. The man who brought them was changed into a bunch of chickens as punishment and placed in a nearby chicken pen. There was a plane crash. A message popped in the air (similar to that of a text message bubble) saying that we should move the victims to a movie theater. The plane had hit the top of a large hill and squashed my sisters truck. The victims had to be lured down through song. There were also many ghosts who could only be seen by a few people.
- Drinking tap water caused people to go insane. I drank some by accident and began to attack people.
- People sized spiders ate clothing as a food source. Spiders 5x that size control the people sized spiders. I stayed in a house that was packed full of food. There wasn’t enough room to sit so I sat on a recliner with two other people and one was a guy. He was acting weird so I slapped him and moved. My former best friend wanted to make a cake for her little brother’s birthday. The old man there wouldn’t let us use his cake mix so we left to buy some but the spiders stopped us. My friend threw up on me.
- I kept drinking, but no matter how much I consumed, I couldn’t get drunk. (The scene was similar to that of when naruto first meets lady tsunade in the bar and she is drinking)
So, that is all I have written in my dream diary so far. Share your dreams or help others figure out the meanings of theirs.
It’s that time of year again. Time to make new resolutions and try your very best to stick to them.
This year ,2016, I pledge too:
5.) Make new friends (that my sister can’t take from me)
4.) Lose weight
3.) Try to make many people laugh or have a good day
2.) Try to make the best of every situation
But the most important one of all…
1.) Be Happy! Try To Not Feel Depressed and/or Want To Die!
I wish everyone a safe and fun New Years and I hope everyone has a better year. You all deserve it.
It’s a cold autumn morning, early in May, and we were making our way into a rural township some five klicks from the nearest checkpoint. Just the five of us trekking through a treeline and making haste for a derelict well. One of the guys fixed eyes on a silhouette sat beside a bucket; they were within speaking distance:
“Hello there. Can you hear me?”
The silhouette remained still. We surrounded them from both flanks as I moved forward and approached them. It was a girl no older than nine, wearing a mossy green overcoat and gumboots, with her hands bound together — an ANZAC poppy sat neatly on her lapel. A single laceration across her neck told us all we needed to know about how she’d ended up here.
Looking down the cobblestone path, the bodies of two adults lied motionless near a wrecked and ransacked sedan. All evidence pointed towards this being an attack by road bandits. Removing the cord from her wrists and fashioning shrouds from storefront drapes, we covered and placed the family of three behind the book store — time constraints did not permit for a proper burial. Using the licence we found in the male’s pocket, I erected a single cross for the fallen:
Hours had passed, we’d been attacked by a well-organised group of bandits using police vehicles who’d tried to make this town their own. Each of them fell to our trained rifles and machine gun, one after the other. Darkness eventually came and the remainder of them deciding to bug-out while they still could. Carrying only my sidearm, I defended the local chapel as staunchly as I could. The rest of my group took up positions in the “Hunting & Fishing” store only 100 metres from where I was; an overturned tanker blocked off the rest of the street.
My radio sparked with life as the corporal informed me that they were headed back to the chapel. Peering through the hedges, I saw each of the four men exit the building and cross the street. One of the bodies lying on the ground moved as a loud exclamation echoed; with a single spark before an enormous detonation.
They were dead in the blink of an eye.
And then there was one. After an endless summer of revolution and destruction, where countless lives were lost in a struggle that even the milit’ry failed to understand, here I stood as the last remaining member of my unit. Earlier that day I’d decorated my helmet with the poppy from the Vickers girl; a fitting tribute for a soul whom life had stole much too early. It stood out against the background of camouflage, but that was the whole point — not just as a target, but an act of defiance.
…Onward unto this nightmare did I continue.
Damn dreams of mine… I told that one to my trick cyclist earlier this year and her eyes were wide with concern. Still, it beats the dream where I was stabbed to death by my great-grandfather.
Anyway… Have a good day, folks.
nearly whole of my life has been shit. Last two years it got even worse now im struggling. Ive tried so many time to leave but it never worked this year should be the one happy new year too all
My parents have always told me to be careful of the internet. That that’s where people steal things from you and commit fraud against you. And in a sense they’re right, but the internet is a two sided coin and they’re looking at the wrong side. I’ve known the people in my school for 12 years and I’ve known the people on Skype for less than 12 months and I trust my Skype friends more. Simply for the fact that I’ve seen people at their best and worst and my Skype friends handled it better. They didn’t run and hide. They cheered the person up. I still haven’t found that in my school and I found that online by playing a game. I found more help here when I was suicidal and couldn’t very well explain it than when I was at a counselors office. True, the internet can be a dangerous place. But, once you look at the other side of that coin, it can be wonderfully amazing.
Hello my fellow survivors of deepression 🙂
If you were a superhero, or super sexy not so villain villain, who’s one purpose was to combat suicide and depression
What would be your super power and how would you use it?
This is Zetsumei’s character song/poem from my SP anime.
In blackest night,
no light shall reach me.
Gathering the broken,
it’s time for our sinful killing spree!
Konbanwa, Zetsumei here
and Zetsubou’s my game.
You can’t play so face your crime,
’cause time picked you as prey.
The numeral of change engraved deeply
marks the funeral of Humility.
Scattering feathers dyed red,
despair bows Virtue’s head.
Konbanwa, Zetsumei here
and Zetsubou’s my game.
You can’t play so face your crime,
’cause time picked you as prey.
Not even the white moon shines down
so drown in this flood of ash.
Para won’t hear, “Yes, my lord” anymore,
when the hoard is marching ashore.
Once upon a time in a land forgotten by time,
there lived a clown of peculiar taste called Charlie.
Charlie was infamous in his age.
Charlie the Triple C was what people called him.
Dressed in a suit dyed black,
skin a ashy white, lips and nose a dark red,
Charlie the Cannibalistic, Culinary Clown,
a feared serial killer of his day.
His fall; a single act of kindness
betrayed through manipulation.
An orphan boy once his apprentice
exploited by their targets;
turned on his master.
Charlie, beaten and starved merely smiled at the irony.
His brother turned lover led astray
by the good people of the village.
Yet Charlie felt no anger towards his beloved,
only pity at their loss of warmth.
In a village of rapists and corruption,
the Clown’s motif; poetic justice.
A village that cannibalized innocence;
themselves cannibalized by vengeance.
Charlie’s favorite and last meal;
Pasta prepared by his cherished one.
A macabre facsimile of tagliatelle al ragu, no doubt.
Tripe for the pasta with a blood and offal sauce…