So in my family, my parents are very crazy about what Â I wear not my brothers just me. I have to wear long sleeved shirts and long pants no shorts no low cut shirts no tight clothing which I mean isn’t really bad but it gets annoying when I see all these girl in different styles and I can only wear long pants and long shirts(the shirts also have to fully cover my butt) I can’t wear high heels or make up and my Â dad freaks when I do. Today I wore a shirt with a. V neck and my dad went ballistic he said I was purposely trying to anger him and and that I’m a terrible child.. I didn’t know what to say.. my parents never let me text boys and if they found out I did theyd kill me ! My mom said if I ever get a boyfriend that shed kick me ouT. Do u think they’re too protective?
There’s a boy.I know you will probably skip this post because you don’t want to read the story of a broken hearted girl,but I will write it anyway because this is the book of my life and no one wants to read it.So I will write this story of love and blood here because this a story of a rock/goth/emo/satanic girl (or anyother names people use to call me) which secretly like a normal bo,you know,one of those cool guys that goes to parties and drink and probably think that my kind of girls must be burned alive or killed because they are freaks.What can I do?Whatch him everyday walking to school in front of me and I’m just walking behind him and thinking how would a relationship with him be?What can I do?To renounce at who I am for him?NEVER! I wanna be myself but he hates the people like me.I NEED HELP :((( Once,he saw my scars and asked me why am I so stupid to do that?Why am I cutting myself.I almost sterted crying and he came and embraced me.That was all.I don’t even think he knows my name.He hates people like me (depressed people) and I don’t know what to do.We are from different world.I’m a warrior and he’s just a normal human.I”m a fuckin’ warrior of our youth (IN BVB ARMY) and he’s just…. normal.I’m dark,he’s pretty.What can I do?
Sometimes I wonder if out there is somebody who loves me in secret as I love him.I don’t think so.
I’m a teenager, and I don’t know if I’m the only one who has noticed how “suicidal thoughts and actions” for example cutting ect. Has become for of a trend than an issue. People are uploading picture of their cuts or of failed suicide wounds practically everywhere for some sick reason the I don’t understand. Yet when someone who actually does have a issue comes forward they are cut down by these people for being ‘attention serking’ or ‘freaks’. I don’t understand this, can’t someone explain this?
This morning I woke up and I was so happy (NOT-.-) because it was Easter. I was half awake looked out the windows when I was downstairs and I saw snow. Snow?? No that’s not possible. I mean snow is already a miracle in The Netherlands if we have it in the winter, but on 31 march?? No, not possible. Somebody was joking on me, with a machine that makes snow, but when i saw that it was also high in the air slowly falling down I realized this was no joke. When I realized that, I got totally crazy, because I thought I was going to be paranoid. I was hyper ventilating and my head felt really light. After about 15 minutes I was calmed down. My mother came in and I asked here if she also saw snow. Luckily she said yes, so it was only weird weather and not me that was getting paranoid and crazy. It was the coldest 31 march in 100 years. Really amazing. It was -5 degrees Celsius or 23 degrees Fahrenheit. The weather is really weird and it freaks me out…
Five hundred and one.
Five hundred and two.
Five hundred and fifty.
Five hundred and sixty.
Five hundred and seventy eight.
The numbers are there, but I can’t help bursting into tears everytime I realize I’m not cutting deep enough. That I can’t. I know it’s a user problem but I blame my razor. The blades not sharp enough. That’s why I’m cutting so lightly. That’s why I haven’t been able to cut over a centimeter deep. I’d numb my leg like a post suggested, but that freaks me out.
It’ll never be deep enough. I’ll never be good enough to press harder.
I woke up this morning and couldnâ€™t believe this is life. That this is the life I have to live. I canâ€™t believe it although itâ€™s there as real as it could be.
I think about the possibility of being somewhere else. In a different body. Different place. Maybe a little house near the sea. Maybe with someone I care about. But this is just a thought for a Sunday morning. I am aware that it could never happen and I honestly don’t want any of that. It’s just something to cover up the reality.
Actually it would be enough if I could just take a shower, but thereâ€™s no hot water. I pull my body out of the bed, wash my face and take a look in the mirror, saying to myself â€žThis canâ€™t be me.â€ Itâ€™s never me. Itâ€™s never anything.
Iâ€™m feeling sick and kind of weak, so I make some coffee. Itâ€™s pitch black and the darkness worries me for a second â€“ unbelievably ridiculous reason to be worried. Darkness freaks me out this autumn and Iâ€™m angry at myself for this, because last year I finally had got rid of the fear of it.
Mother says something to me, but I donâ€™t hear it. She was drinking last night. Of course she was. She always is.
It’s life. No way out. And tomorrow is a Monday morning.
My life has infact, gotten no better. TheÂ exerciseÂ isn’t looking like anything has changed, I still hate my body. My friends are somewhat ignoring my issues because they make them uncomfortable. Because they never have anything to say to me, so they just smileÂ sympatheticallyÂ and soon enough it’s forgotten.
What I’ve discovered is that my father has been diagnosed with Bi-Polar, and this explains why he’s such a dick when only moments ago he would have been being lovely. But now, he wants to lean onto me. Because I’m his daughter, and the only thing he has left, I feel obligated to look after him, even though I’m not sure I even class him as a father anymore.
Mother has bought me sleeping pills because I’ve not been getting any of it. I’m becoming scared of the dark again, and my light is usually out and if it’s on my mum will turn it off. I just sit in my quilts sobbing like a child. I hear things, I see shadows even though I really can’t see shit. It freaks the fuck out of me, so no, I’m not sleeping.
I’m still cutting my thigh. I cover it up with foundation and things, and use bio oil to try make the scars fade, but it doesn’t work.Every time I harm myself, I do it over the same almost healed wounds and they re-open.
The suicidal thoughts have stayed. I don’t want to die, but I honestly do. I wish I could just fall into a coma or something, so I could just take a fucking break or whatever. I Â don’t want to hurt my family by dying, my little brother is everything to me, but I just can’t stand being miserable a moment longer. I try my hardest to be happy, you know. I TRY.
Science say’s when you die. It’s game over. Consciousness is produced by the brain. Religion say’s we have a soul. I say youwhat.? If there is a god why would it give us soul’s. Make us immortal.? & why would he love us. Let’s face it. Human beings are a bunch of freaks. Self obsessed selfish & self absorbed. Ok there are expressions but not for most..
I think i’m aÂ Â searcher.
Fall. Get up.
Run. They are –
Everywhere. No Escape.
And when i fall to my
Someone come rescue me?
If I wasn’t already having a bad day.
Damn those stupid door knocking god thumping freaks.
You know nothing about me so who are you to call me a damn sinner and NO i don’t want you to leave me a bible and NO I don’t want you coming back next week to teach me to love a god that don’t bloody exist
I have the option of taking discounted driving lessons through school. I am one of the few people my age who flatly rejected this offer. I don’t want to learn to drive. There are a few reasons for this that I’ve explained to people- traffic freaks me out and I’m scared of somehow killing someone- but although both are true, the main reason I don’t want to drive is the temptation.
If I had a car and the ability to drive, it would be all too simple to purposely crash into a wall or something really fast (although I’d never let it kill another, I’d make sure no other cars or people were around), a car accident so terrible it would certainly kill me.
I need to avoid that temptation, because it would be all too easy to make it look like an accident and it seems like the most appealing death to me right now. And I have to try and stay alive for the sake of others, no matter how hard it gets. I just can’t give myself that option, because I might just follow through one of these days.
That’s a quote from one of my all time favourite novels, Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut. I have plans to get the book’s mantra, ‘so it goes’, tattooed somewhere on my body.
Which, is kind of at odds with posting on a suicide website, isn’t it?
I don’t actually know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know if I’m depressed – I’ve never gone to a doctor or a counseller. I think about suicide on a near-daily basis; not in some abstract way, but with regards to methodologies, and having a suicide note on my laptop which I regularly update to correspond with the messages I want conveyed at any given time. I don’t really know why I’m unhappy, I just am. I always have been. I’m not sure if it’s because of a chemical imbalance in my brain, if it’s just the way I was born, or just because I don’t really want to be here. There are things here that I like, things and people that I love. There are things I would love to see and do, but all of it is stuff I don’t believe was really meant for me, and the things I want I don’t have any way of getting. Sometimes, I don’t even care.
I guess I had a fairly regular life – grew up with an alcoholic father constantly losing his temper at my mother, and terrifying me in the process that he would hurt her. I also have a brother I love dearly. I was bullied in school, went through phases of hiding in the bathroom at lunchtime – but I also went through many years of having good friends and good laughs. Those times are harder to remember.
I am a virgin. Very few people know that, and it’s not because I haven’t been presented with the opportunity. It’s because if I get close to doing it, it freaks me out – I don’t trust people, not to hurt me, not to leave me. I don’t trust people to tell them I am a virgin. The fact that I comfort eat and am overweight does not help. I don’t care enough to do anything about it. This is not why I am depressed, this is just a side effect of it.
I went to university, spent three semi-lonely years being the odd one out, but loving the content of my utterly useless course. I graduated, people applauded, I didn’t care. Three years later, I have not found a single job. These days, I hardly even look for one. I don’t care enough. I have an interview for an intership in a week and a half. I would like to get it. I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t. Three years is a long time, and it’s an unfillable gap in my CV which feels me with shame and a feeling of being pathetic, useless, and unwanted. I have a feeling people don’t want to employ me because I’m overweight and socially awkward. In the current economic climate, they have a big enough pool of desperate graduates to be able to be prejudiced like that.
For the last two years, while I have lived beside a river, I have often contemplated drowing myself. I can’t swim, you see, and the reason I haven’t already killed myself is that I am a coward. I hate pain, I fear it, and I do not want to die painfully. If I went into that river, unable to swim, the current would do the job. I haven’t done it because I see death as a failsafe. Despite the nights of tossing and turning, anxiety and panic attacks, intense anger and endless sessions of crying I often suffer, I’m determined to survive until I see no other possible option. Instead I wrote a short story in the third person about walking into that river and letting it take me. I put it on deviantart, where I am a well known cartoon fan-artist. Nobody knows it is about me, and I find that kind of funny.
Today I discovered this website, and the helium hood method of suicide. I have watched two videos, one on how to construct a hood, and one which explains how to use it and why it works. I have decided this will be my method of suicide, if I ever need it.
I have one tattoo, a line from a song, which I got in a moment of rare glee and strength, as a reminder to myself that I have, and can, feel that way. I am currently planning two more tattoos, ‘So it goes’, and ‘miles to go’, from a Robert Frost poem. Both represent acceptance of death as an inviting and very real and inevitable thing, but also remind me that there are other things besides it. If I get this internship, I will get them, to remind me to keep going. If I don’t, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Sorry this post is so long. If you’ve bothered to read it, thank you.
Has anyone read this? It’s a book by Kate Bronstein.
congradulations dad. you fucked up again. getting married without asking me about it first… making us move into this bug infested disgusting thing you freaks call a house. the walls are rotted. there is no cell phone service. i have a tiny room compared to the one i had before. i have to leave my stuff shoved under my bed and crammed in the closet because there is nowhere to fit it all. your room is worse than mine. and you yell at me and ground me because my stuff “isnt where its supposed to be”. im sick of it. why do my thoughts suddenly not matter anymore ever since you met her? dont you love me anymore? no… you dont… you never did… otherwise you wouldnt put me through this. i hate you. i said it before. im saying it again. I HATE YOU!!!
I had surgery two weeks ago after car crash and they used cadaver, a dead person’s body parts to keep me going. This totally freaks me out. Try getting that thought out of your head!