#suicide ideation ment

[endcant]

at this point i just need to start writing reasons not to kill myself in a journal every day because trying to improve my life somewhat is not getting the message across to the little depression gnome in my brain

[lavender-town-radio]

Abt to be super fucking morbid on main click at your own risk-

If you've ever wondered why physically disabled people kill themselves I'm literally in so much pain right now that I'm laying here sobbing while my boyfriend holds me because ny body hurts so fucking much that I almost want to fucking kill myself just to make it STOP

/ I am not actively suicidal or in crisis you do not need to wonder if I'm safe atm or not, I am

[cassieskinsuk]

I don't wanna cut my vains but wish I was dead.

[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: love letter

A sheet of paper, folded into thirds, dotted in places with what must be water and grass stains. The handwriting is legible in some places, and shaky in others. In the margins are small doodles of birds, clouds, trees, and other miscellaneous, abstract shapes, as if the writer’s mind kept wandering. 

TO: Nico di Angelo 

FROM: Jason Grace 

Hey, Nico. If you’re reading this, something probably happened to me. Maybe I hit my head again and lost my memories, or something, and you went through my stuff to try and find things to remind me of who I was. Maybe this fell out while we were hanging out, one day, and you saw it was addressed to you and you picked it up. Maybe I died—

However you found this, I guess, surprise! :) 

First thing’s first: I’m sorry for leaving. I know I begged you to stay, and then turned around and left, and I really hope you understand - I didn’t leave because of you. I needed to find Leo, and leaving with Piper was the easiest way to do that. I had to try and get him back. 

I wanted you to come with, but you were still healing and things were going really well with you and Will. I hope things still are, in fact. Wherever I am, I’m so proud of you for how far you’ve come, and how much I’m sure you continued to grow even after I left. 

I really love you, man. I never got to tell you that, but you’re one of my best, closest friends. You mean so much to me. You showed me a side of the world that I never would’ve seen otherwise, and gave me a space to be myself, and I will never, ever know how I deserved that. How I deserve you. 

Is that out of left field? Haha it definitely is. Sorry. 

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Nico. I didn’t want to leave. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I had to go and I’m sorry it had to be me, but it couldn’t be her, Nico, it can’t be her, it can’t be. It has to be me. 

It has to be. 

Here, some of the words are smeared from the water marks. Lines cross through some words that have then been re-written, as if in after-thought the author realized they were too important to delete. 

If you really are reading this, after the worst case scenario, I understand if you’re angry. I understand if you never want to think about me again, after what I’ve done. I’ll understand if you storm to your father’s palace and demand I be placed in the worst of the worst punishments for being so stupid. 

Gods. Gods, Nico, I’m never going to get to tell you how I really feel. About all of this, about everything I’m going through, I’m never going to be able to tell you and that hurts. It hurts more than knowing I’m going to die, it hurts more than getting stabbed and poisoned. I’m going to die loving you and you won’t even know until it’s too late. 

Maybe this is a stupid bad idea. Maybe I should let it die with me. Is it cruel, to tell you how I feel if I’m gone? Does this make me an awful person? 

Shit. I think I’m an awful person, Nico. I’m awful and I’m selfish and I can never choose things for myself, it always has to be for the greater good, so this is it. This is as selfish as I can be. This is all I can be for you. 

I want to see you on the other side. I want you to punch me for getting myself killed and hate me for being a hero and I want you to know that I didn’t want this but it needed to be me. It has to be me. 

I’m still wrapping my head around it, but it has to be me, okay? So if I’m really gone when you’re reading this, okay, you have to let me stay gone. Please. If you get hurt, if you die, and it’s my fault, I could never— 

Here, the letter abruptly stops. Then, it continues: 

That’s all I wanted to say, anyway. That I love you. I love you in any way I can, and even if I’ve done it silently, and stupidly, from a distance, just know that it was there, the whole time. It’s still there, wherever I am. Dead, or lost, or whatever. I love you, Nico. I’m sorry.

-- Jason Grace :)

[transmasccofee]

TW FOR MENTION OF SUICIDE //

ok so i may have misinterpreted the line and i also may be projecting a little but does anyone remember that bit in one of the episodes where saiki is describing his morning routine and says (paraphrased) “i wake up and the first thing i hear is everyones thoughts at once, and wish i could go back to sleep and never wake up”. cause. :( im not surpised if that’s really what he meant but it just adds another layer of pain to this guy

[tittiedshrek]

God, as a person who HAS been hospitalized before for attempting suicide, just seeing James randomly traumadump on his fucking audience to gain sympathy pisses me off to no end. I am not doubting that he has attempted or insinuating that he is lying - that is fucking gross first of all and secondly, I can understand that being the weekly "internet villian of the week" can come with harassment. Perhaps even worse harassment because he is gay and a member of a historically marginalized community. At the same time, it is EQUALLY as gross to use your attempt as a way to garner sympathy when you get called out for problematic behavior. It's manipulative, cheapens the topic, and makes everyone else who has struggled like myself look like selfish attention seekers.

I can understand that someone can feel so guilty/sad about what they have done that they can resort to self-harm, but that is a personal problem that needs to be dealt with OUTSIDE of the internet in therapy. It's not the fault of your audience, Nick, Hbomberguy, Kat, etc. that you ended up in the hospital, and it is irresponsible as a creator to have that be the FIRST thing you talk about in your "apology" video and have that hang over their heads. You can't say that you're not trying to make this into a sob story, then take advantage of your audience's parasocial relationship with you to make them feel bad for being disappointed in you.

I don't want James to die, I really don't. No one deserves to find themselves in such a state of mind, and I wouldn't wish that upon my worst enemy. I do, however, want him to stay off the internet completely until he recognizes the harm he has caused to the LGBTQIA+ community and he gets in a better headspace so that he can actually make amends to everyone he has stolen from and hurt.

[the-chaos-goose]

Vent ahead!

I. Really don’t trust my brain or my thoughts or my words or even some headmates rn. Ik one is… well she’s back to her roots (roots of heavy self harm and thinking that it only affects her). She can’t really be reasoned with in a way that matters and it’s. It’s not fun. But I’m trying

one other headmate is dormant after I think a pet death? Can’t remember

and honestly I’ve been stuck thinking my dreams are reality/connected to reality and it’s fucking me up bc I’m scared if I tell anyone they’ll just say “oh it’s not real” but. Like. That doesn’t help. I wish I could explain it but like. Trying to convince me it isn’t real never works. I go along and pretend I believe them, just to not argue, cuz that’s my instinct, but.. I still believe that if I sleep I’ll wake up in the dreams again and I’ll deal with the bullshit going on in them. And I’ll never escape. It’s a horrible feeling, not really a thought anymore. Just. A feeling. An awful one. That and I’ve been losing touch with explaining anything again and it’s killing me bc I’ll think I worded something perfectly and then I’ll just fall flat on my face ‘cuz nothing I verbally say makes sense. Then there’s the feeling of death every damn night when I’m left alone and I can’t handle that bc gods.. I think I’m dying EVERY night and idk how to ask someone to just. Stay awake until I fall asleep. Bc that’s too much to ask and I know that. I know that that’s a freak thing to ask but gods. Years of isolation really messed me up and I can’t sleep alone like that. Not with someone asleep either. They have to be awake until I’m asleep. Because that’s genuinely the only time I feel alive.

AND THEN there’s my dad. He’s been getting worse again and it’s made me wanna die. Bad. I haven’t had this severe suicidal ideation since I was like 8 (yes 8. Bad year. Whatever). I’m glad im absolutely shit at planning and I’m too scared of leaving my lovers to go through with it or else I would’ve been done-zos. That and my cats. And my great aunt. But the ideation is still there and it’s eating me apart tbh

There’s also my lungs. They’ve been getting bad. I mean BAD. like breathing is killing me in ways I can’t describe. I’ve been struggling with LAUGHING bc it’s been bad. I play it off as funny (it is, in a morbid manner tbh), but at the same time- gods on earth I feel like I’m disintegrating

there’s ALSO ALSO my drooling. It’s not that bad, especially not compared to everything else. But gods it’s just. Annoying :(. I don’t like having to wipe my mouth every chance I get bc I feel all wet. It’s yucky and I hate it. I get “yada yada self love” but I have sensory issues and a slight anxiety around anything “gross” so like. My drooling issue is genuinely upsetting in a more “this inconveniences me and I want it gone” rather than “I hate my body!!”

Also we relapsed and it’s been burning bc of our clothes and I just don’t wanna ask like “hey can I get some kinda large bandage” cuz I don’t wanna admit to self-harm.

idk. I’m sorry if you read this. I have to get it out, I have to be seen. I’m sorry.

[burninglights]

also heyyyy I’m back! sorry for dipping; turns out I have may have OCD and also maybe nerve damage in my neck.

Turns out that my brain intrusive thought-ing me about eternal damnation/secretly doing war crimes level terrible shit without knowing it/reveal from from the roster, and also 24/7 parasthesia and having 5000mcgs of hydroxcobalamin bolused into you every other day does not make for good posting.

I am…not better, but things are moving forward. Got a c-spine MRI and if that comes back clear we move on to testing for MS. If you’re of a praying tradition, please include me in your prayers; if you’re not, please send me all the good vibes you can spare 🥲

[go-to-the-mirror]

call me the tenth doctor because my suicidal ideation is really dragging the mood down

[angelwisps]

really truly should’ve known that my period was coming considering how badly i’ve wanted to off myself the last few days

[stardustedwanderer]

[...What if it is your fault though...?]

[This all started when you died, you where dead and gone and that was that but you came back.

What...

What if the Universe was leading you? What if the Universe wanted you dead. And somehow? You failed to follow..

Sure you've died since. A million different ways, or so it feels and yet.

...

Maybe.. Maybe none of those were the right way? That sounds like you doesn't it? Always messing things up, overlooking the blindingly obvious.

Whatever you did broke something and now.. It can't be fixed until...

....

...You don't want to think about this.]

[wandercr]

eliana is exceptionally generous by wasteland standards and absolutely shares and gives without expectation of a return investment. save for, perhaps, someone's approval or friendship.

that said, some of her generosity comes from the expectation that she will not need the resources she's sharing, because she won't be alive long enough to use them.

[coachbeards]

"hard to forget a game like that." "you know what will help? going to see the woman that you love." "exactly. but it's clear to me that coach beard doesn't think he's worthy of jane." "oh, i know. beard's self-esteem is so low, he will need a pep talk to kill himself. and i would like to give that pep talk."

[sab3rto0thed]

here is the thing about suicide: it is not a solution. it is ghostly.

there is a thing about loss that is inherently spiritual. for the general christians, there is heaven and hell and the in-between is now. for others, there is reincarnation: the rustle of leaves, a new baby. for a separate group, there are rainstorms like hail and disappearing headlights. that is being haunted.

but suicide is not like any sort of afterlife. it is like you will always be part of the in-between, stuck somewhere between here and there. your clothes are still hung in your room, untouched. your headphones still sit on your desk. your food is still in the fridge, the dinner you were going to eat tomorrow night. the only thing that is missing is you.

suicide is no longer a crime in the united states, but it is a crime in some countries. when i was maybe sixteen or seventeen, my mom took me to a psychiatrist so i could get medicated. he asked, "have you hurt yourself in the last six months?" i said no, because i hadn't, because i was getting better at being well. i must have glanced down, because he asked, "did you just look at your thighs because that's where you hurt yourself?" i have never touched my thighs. i was so blown out of the water by the comment, by the fact that he didn't believe that i was capable of not hurting myself for over six months. my mom said he was just trying to help, that he was a doctor, but i didn't know how he could not see the heavy lines of progress etched into my eyes.

and that's what everyone always says after someone kills themselves: oh, it was in the eyes, you can tell. it's always supposed to be in the eyes, some signage, a giant neon building that screams SUICIDAL! there are videos of these celebrities and the comments are full of sympathy pains, and it's always: the eyes, the eyes, the eyes, look at his eyes, he was already gone. and he wasn't. that's the thing, he fucking wasn't. he wasn't gone until it was too late.

i read a book called How Not To Kill Yourself, and the author wrote that if you are going to talk about suicide, you have to do it honorably. so here is my honor: i think suicide is an addiction. i think as soon as you touch that blade or consider putting your head underwater, it never really goes away. it always lingers, ghostly and persistent, the same way an alcoholic never really stops thinking about that buzz, the same way adrenaline junkies eventually throw themselves off of cliffs in their desire for more. it is a burning, persistent feeling. i have been clean for a year and a half now, i have not touched a shard of glass or held my head underwater for too long. i cry a lot and i let myself feel things and i am better, certainly, and yet there are still days when i curl up in the back of my car and think: there is no one in this world that would truly feel that my loss would be irreversible to their lives.

it is sinister, suicide. it creeps up on you. it says: one more time, for the road. it will make sure the nights with your friends will pale in comparison, it will make your body so heavy that you feel like you will never laugh again because your bones are bricks. it will take you away from the people you love, and you will not even resist. there will be no kicking and screaming, because here it is again: these people don't love you, not enough. they never will. you are always the loser, always second-best in everything you do, no matter how hard you try.

it is an endless fight for your life that you will never truly win, which is why middle-aged adults often end up hanging, because life is so long when you are fighting all the time. because once you start, it will never stop coming for you. it will linger for decades, uncaring of how much you've grown and all of the spite of your successes. and sometimes it is not there, but then there will be heavy days where you feel isolated from everyone you have ever loved and you feel like that little drowned girl again, too far out to sea. those are the worst.

i got lunch with one of my best friends a few weeks ago. this is a girl that i have been close to for two years by now, longer, and still she saw the massive scar on my arm and she said, "i noticed that a long time ago but i never asked what it was from." and i didn't answer, because i will never have the guts to remember that day. there are some things i just cannot get past my mouth, no matter how abrasive i become.

maybe it is in the eyes. for years i did not eat or get out of bed very much, and i woke up just to sit clothed in the bathtub and imagine going under, and i poured my medication out into my hand until i held twenty pills, and i thought about them. and i crushed all of the glass candle holders i got once the wax was gone and i kept them hidden behind my dresser, just in case. i felt each step when i walked down the wooden hallway, every floorboard my very last. and i remained underweight, always ten pounds less than was healthy, only a single meal a day, barely enough to get by. and my eyes always looked empty in the mirror, checked-out, halfway gone, like a rustling tree. i am better, i say, as if i have healed from some crippling illness that ate away at me, but sometimes if i'm not paying enough attention, i see that empty girl again, staring back at me, asking me when i am going to end this. it is scary. i am as frightened of her as i am sympathetic. i love her and i want her gone.

if we are going to talk about suicide, then we must do it honorably. and we also, somehow, must be honest about our glass shards and our empty smiles. and we must learn to ask for help when we are drowning, miles out to sea.

[one-winged-dreams]

.