Posts tagged Suicide

I’ll admit it, I’m attracted to broken people. I don’t know why, perhaps that they are so deeply and passionately aware of their own despair, trying to find balance between life and death. I crave this passion, wrap my heart around it.

I don’t feel sorry for the Broken Girl, she would hate that. I don’t judge her. I don’t try to fix her [anymore]. I don’t pretend to know what she is feeling. I inquire. I listen. I read. I want to learn. I will hold your hand and offer friendship where maybe there was none. If you should get better I would smile, not abandon. I know that being ‘better’ doesn’t mean being cured. It’s all a matter of how low you’ve gone as to how far you can come back.

I have never ‘lost’ a friend, but many have gone off. My biggest regret was an ED/SI friend I had for a year on greatestjournal. She journaled every day the mess of a life she had, lying bleeding and puking on her bathroom floor. It was amazing in its own, but no less amazing than what I’ve seen here on tumblr. She asked me at one point to help her look to get her journal published, ala Ellen Hopkins, but I waited too long. The website died rather quickly and all her words, poems, pictures and life was gone. She went on to Myspace and dove into partying. She stopped blogging and then disappeared. I know her story is far from unique. I know a cutter who no longer cuts, but life still does not come easy for her despite being loved by so many.

I’m not sure how love works into the whole mix. Does it only add to the pressure?

It does bother me when she has gone beyond broken, encouraging others to join in the quest. This is beyond me and I am lost on how to approach this. I know that when others approve it only exasperates the problems and often breeds competition. When one no longer thinks they have a problem, what is there to do? Tell me! Fucking Tell Me!

Again I do not feel sorry for the Broken Girl, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel saddened. I wish I had a magic wand. I wish I had the answer. I know you want to get better, but it must be fucking maddening to not know what that means anymore. There seems to only be one word of consistency, Perfect.

I’ve come to hate that word.

Isn’t it okay to be unperfekt?

feelingnumb:

I hated my step dad because he hit me

and I hated you because you didn’t stop him

I wish this world was a better place…

For Jess

so unpretty

Again I have followed the path,
of you.
Charred remains of searing accusations,
of self.
Viscous smears eradicate everything,
of beauty.

Undeserved sorrow, a mutilated creation
of others.
begets hatred of reflection.
Uncaring,
unconcerned,
drowning you in the eternal desperation,
of now.

I find you alone,
silent in a world,
of nothing.
Wishing to be,
not you,
but anyone.

The future gathered in a fragile wish,
determined to kill it,
complete the fall,
simple.

I’ve taken them,
discarded words, letters.
Re-arranging the hope,
buried behind hesitant eyes,
unable to disguise wild wonder,
burning deep.

Do not die.

Take the ethereal hand before you,
and see what we see,
should we become unblind,
to you.

Worthwhile

Suicide

I remember being eight and over a friends house across town. There was always this other kid from the neighborhood that hung out with us. Then one day the kid’s older brother, 17, kills himself. Apparently it was the thing to do that year as like four other kids from the high school also followed suit. That was the first time I really thought of death, scaring the shit out of myself wondering what it was like to be dead. Suddenly aware of my own mortality and the fact that I would have to face it one day ruined many a nights sleep. I don’t recall if it was the fear of being placed under the ground to rot away or the eternal infinity that would follow. Nowadays, my mind automatically switches paths should these thoughts pass by.

I won’t proceed into the realm of religion here, but will in another post. Let it be said that I don’t believe in God and the afterlife, at least until I have reason to believe his/her/its existence. It’s odd though that I am more willing to accept the world of apparitions, but for all the millions with first hand experience, I would have to see it with my own two eyes. If that should happen, I’m going to laugh myself silly with all the implications to address of heaven, hell, purgatory and all that shit.

It wasn’t until a number of years later when the subject of suicide was once again forefront in my mind. Not my own though, I was still a happy fuck of a kid, ignorant as all hell. Perhaps I was watching the wrong shows or reading the wrong things, but people were killing themselves. This time it was because they were backed into a corner, had no way out in life, more than the general depression. You could see the pain they put their family through with dying. All I kept thinking was, why die? Couldn’t they have just taken off, run away and do something fun, or dangerous, or illegal, anything other than dying. Go rob a bank somewhere, or fly to another country, anything. I did realize of course how shitty that would look. I mean, running away only looks good compared to have killed yourself. And since you didn’t die, you look like a shit. Maybe there is no winning. I guess that’s why they did it. Don’t you hate when you refute your own argument?

Life fucks with you. I’ve figured that out eventually. You don’t have to be mired in eternal despair to play with the notions of suicide. I’m not going to say that I got anywhere near offing myself, but that wave of feeling, that I really don’t want to bother with it anymore has passed by me many times. But I can’t and I won’t kill myself, even if I should drift to a bad place. I’m not going to preach any heroism in the fact that I just couldn’t do that to the people I love. I will not fuck up the rest of their lives. Not a chance.

But I understand that feeling. I know that when you’re that low, its hard to put things in perspective. And no matter what people say, when you’re that low, its like a welcoming door that opens for you, inviting you to be pain free forevermore. What could be better than that? Fuck living.

So where does that leave you, the one who wants to die?

Suicide is the ultimate selfish act. I don’t mean that in a bad way, because it may be the first time you put yourself first. You want to do it for you, cause you sure as fuck aren’t killing yourself for someone else. So what do you do? You live, maybe so you won’t cause others pain. Them 1, You 0. Just another failure to please others. Maybe there is no winning. Wait, I’m repeating myself.  I know I’m over simplifying the issue, but it all comes down to happiness, or rather, sadness. Will it ever end? Could it end? When?

I read a post on here about a conversation with a friend, where the friend thought drowning would be a lovely way to die. I have a hard time find a worse way. The ultimate opportunity to change your mind, but you revoked that opportunity and as the pain of the diminishing last breath bears down you, and suddenly realize you’ve murdered yourself. Good job. Double sin, 2x your score instantly.

We know that some, many, most? failed attempts are really the chance to scream, let everyone know how low you really are. I mean, how hard can it be to kill yourself and really die? It’s fucked that it would have to come down to that, to make them really understand the depths, maybe make you realize that. I read, about a year ago, of a girl whose bf broke up with her and she ran out to the greenhouse and chugged a bottle of insecticide. Was that really necessary? I don’t know anymore. Maybe she thought that he was really the love of her life. She’ll never get to meet the real one, and whoever that was supposed to be will never get to meet her. I bet her future self is kicking her own ass all over the infinite world for that. I joke, but I die inside a little bit every single fucking time I read something like that. Every time.

Circling back to the brother of my friend’s friend. And this thought pervaded me recently while talking with a friend on here. What if he hadn’t have killed himself? What if the gun didn’t go off? What if a friend had called him moments before needing help? Maybe he’d be happily married now with kids and all that shit. Maybe he’d thank God, or someone, that he had a second chance. So many people die these days by accidents or illness its sick, they never had the opportunity to give themselves second chance. I know I read it at least once on tumblr of this sort of savior, true or not, it made me happy.

Hopelessness. I suppose that’s what it’s all about. The questions is, what to hope for? I wonder for all those who had a failed attempt, (that’s redundant, isn’t it?) are actually glad they failed. Does that number change over time? I imagine it would. I hope it would.

Like I told you, if you can’t love yourself today, at least find one tiny thing to like.

Sorry if I haven’t accomplished anything in this posting but a ramble. I like you, whoever you are, so stick around, we’ll talk later.

~HHH

“I used to hurt myself. But I realized, that its not worth it. If I’m going to be hurting myself like how I was then why don’t I just quit the pain and kill myself.  I could never kill myself.”

I love this girl and that she chose to stay, else I’d never had got to know her. But what I realized is that this is something you have to find within yourself. I could never say that to anyone, because it’s a risk I could never take, not to mention just a stupid thing to say to anyone in a fragile state. I suppose it’s a matter or gathering of all inner strength and knowing you’ll get to where you want at some point and be able to turn back and give them all the middle finger.

Everyone’s situation is different, and for some SI is nothing more than a daily ritual. No big deal they say. That’s hard to take, not to mention comprehend for someone as vanilla as myself.

Staying alive should never be taken for granted. Neither should actually living. Gotta remember that myself.

I still wish I had a magic wand, but all I really have is hope.

This is getting too deep for a Sunday night…

I want to be at the beach. 

its rhymey, its emo, a bit cliche, and totally lacking of proper punctuation, but wtf, its that kind of world

and i still love you…whoever you may be

and her nothingness becomes even less
barely set out on this futile quest
no pureness remains to embed the knife
completely scarred, battered by strife

again we know better, we’ve seen all her words
breathtaking, poignant, bitter like swords
pleading an end to torturous sorrows
we know that her wish is to end all tomorrows

but the world is not ready to give you your dream
thou we’d join you in hell and make you our queen
and I hope we can do more than sit here and stare
come back to us now cause we know nothings fair

we care

…off the internet, click, click, paypal, done. UPS tracker, out for delivery, front porch waiting. 

I bought a package of cold capsules from Shop Rite and as expected they open and empty with ease. I bet I could snort that and something cool would happen. But I’m not really sick and not up for a rush so I’ll wipe them with my hand into my hand and down the sink. The real business begins as I use an army of small instruments to effectively pack the revamped capsules with the crystalline death powder. I only complete six of them as it seems to be overkill already. That wasn’t meant to be punny. 

There remains nice pile of leftovers on the table. I am tempted to taste, like on TV when they touch their finger to the substance and continue to the tip of their tongue. Poison indeed. They don’t say it, but the grimace tells all, right Mr. Gower?. Who the hell knows what poison tastes like? Do they teach you that in med or pharmaceutical school? Blind taste tests perhaps? Hey Jack, what did you put for that last one, A or B? Maybe they do, hell if I know. I suppose if it doesn’t taste like sugar, you probably shouldn’t ingest it willy nilly. But I digress… 

The leftovers, hand, hand, sink. I am wondering if that wasn’t a stupid thing to do, but I wash with antibacterial soap and though I know you can’t kill poison, it’s probably effective enough. Even so, I’d only expect mild ramifications. 

I take the six and load them like bullets into an ex-acetaminophen bottle along with one of those silica packets. No one likes moldy poison, not to mention a change in chemical composition. Label is off and a big red skull and bones are thusly scrawled upon the exterior. Add the word poison and I suspect no one should have the need to taste test these. Place them up on the shelf. Go back to life, internet, rate my purchase, email spam list. 

So I didn’t jump the last time I was on a balcony, despite my inner demon. Today might be different. I open and let the six roll into play on the counter. It’s been a few days or weeks since I’ve seen them and mostly out of my mind until someone in there spoke up. I don’t like him very much. It’s another battle of wills. I want mine to be more than stronger and perhaps this will work. 

In one second I could be dead. Well, not one second, but the image of the girl standing on the edge of a building with those words written below her are etched in my head. She’s really thinking of dying, or maybe just happily posing, unknowing the words that will be cleverly placed below her photo and posted for the desperate. But if I read correctly, it wouldn’t be more than a minute or so before all the cells in my body refuse to accept oxygen and die. Reading hasn’t provided the actual pain or suffering involved but I gather it will be quick. 

But there they sit. Take one he says, or maybe I make him say. I even pick one up. Now all I have to do is open up, toss, swallow. It’s too late now to go back. Not much difference when you try to convince yourself to jump in the pool when you think its freezing, but know it will be fine once you’re in. Just jump. 

But I don’t want to die, and no sane plans exist to do so, but I’m tired of this evil thought that’s been worming in my mind forever. When I say no and flush the six, do I win? Probably not. It was a stupid idea in the first place. I’m probably on the FBI watch list now to boot. 

Like this pain in my shoulder, I just want him to go away for good.

fuckthisdepression:

Lypophrenia - A sense or feeling of sorrow or sadness, without any apparent cause or source

I think we all have a touch of this…some more than others