#tw talk of suicide

[onboardsorasora]

soul meets body

So I just listened to death cab for cutie on repeat and this happened. I hope it hits the vibe I was going for. Uhm I do have to post a trigger warning so it'll ruin the 'surprise' but I'm hoping my pacing makes up for it

tw: suicide. not overt or graphic but it's there. also, some abuse.

maxiel. 782 wrds

Daniel looked back with a fond grin when he felt Max’s hand close around his. 

His Max, the love of his life. His Great Love. Soulmates tied by the red string of fate and separated by life and circumstances. 

Max’s answering grin was one of Daniel’s favourites, framed by the darkness of the surrounding woods and the light of the full moon. Max giggled, a happy sound. One they don’t hear too much of since his dad returned from deployment. 

Daniel’s hand clenched over Max’s, stopping in their trek to pull him close and lavish in his attention. Languish in the feeling of Max’s body against his. Of them both being here and present. Daniel hummed a melody that had Max slipping his eyes closed and resting his head against Daniel’s. He hummed as well, swaying them in place as if dancing their first dance at their wedding. 

A fantasy they both knew would never come to fruition. 

Jos would never allow them to be together and Joe will never allow Daniel to further put himself in harm’s way. 

“Where the soul meets body…” Daniel whispered the lyrics, his other hand clutching the back of Max’s head. The hardness of his cast shifting the strands. 

“I love you Daniel.” Max whispered into Daniel’s ear. He ignored the memories of his father yelling at him that he didn’t know what love was. That he couldn’t. 

‘We should run away together.’ Max had said, holding a towel to Daniel’s face. ‘As long as I’m with you’ Daniel had rasped out, the fingerprint shaped bruising around his neck lurid.

‘Meet me by the tracks, tomorrow.’

Max had waited for hours, shaking the panic and trepidation from his bones. That Daniel changed his mind. That he didn’t want him. He’d gone to the house that evening to see Michelle staring at him sadly in the yard. Joe had secreted Daniel away in the middle of the night. 

He should have known when Jos was gleeful upon waking, knew that something important happened for him to look so excited with life when all he’d brought back with him from the military was pain and trauma that he insisted on passing down to his son.

Daniel hadn’t come back until the fall. The entire summer dragged on with the absence of his presence. School was shit and rumors flew. But no matter what the plan was, Joe couldn’t keep them away from the rest of his family. Daniel came back with a sunny smile, and a scar on his face from the beating Jos bestowed. 

They learned their lesson. Meeting and loving each other in secret. Daniel shared the music that reminded him of Max while he wasted away on his grandparents’ farm in the country. The song he had on repeat whenever he wanted to feel like Max was near. 

“I love you Max.” Daniel whispered back. They had been good. They had been so good. But it wasn’t enough. Not with Jos lurking around. It would never be.

‘Lets run away.’ Max had said, kneeling at Daniel’s legs while he sat on a hard chair in the hospital. 

‘Where Maxy? He’ll always find us.’ Daniel said sadly. He would go anywhere Max wanted, without question. 

‘Dan..’

‘Anywhere Maxy. Anywhere with you.’ Daniel had spoken into his hair.

‘Where the soul meets body.’

There was a noise in the distance and the two sprung apart before laughing gaily. They took off in a run, dodging trees and going down the small hill. They stopped at the bottom of the slope and Max felt his heart pound as he pulled Daniel with him. 

They stopped in the middle of the tracks, holding each other's hands between them as they stared into each other's eyes. Daniel reached up with his good hand to wipe off a smear of blood that they missed. It was still damp enough to move freely. The rest was on the floor and the clothes they left at Max’s house.

The sound came again, the braying of a train horn. Closer. 

“I love you Max.” Daniel whispered, his heart hammered in his chest as adrenaline soared. He only had eyes for Max. His Maxy.

“I love you Daniel.” Max said with a grin, eyes squinting in their emotion as a light breached the bend of the wooded area. He was so happy, felt so free. Jos would never find them again, never hurt Daniel again.

The horn blared again, louder, as the earth shook with the heaviness.

They smiled at each other, dopy in love grins. Max leaned in for a kiss that Daniel wholehearted returned, clutching each other close as the light got closer.

[propertyofwhitney67]

Dark Whitney trying to move on…fucks everyone that looks like you and just pretends that it’s you, but it’s not the same. They don’t feel the same, they don’t make the sounds you did. It will never be the same, no one could ever compare to you in anyway.

He throws himself into his work and buys the house the two of you dreamed of having. He can’t bring himself to decorate it, you were always the more creative one.

It would take him a few years to finally end it. Probably in bed, in the spot you were supposed to lay with him.

Part of my Dark Whitney series and can be found on my masterlist

[atl4ntxc]

I got a question: What happened to xiloscient after MC’s death? Since Xilo find outs that MC truly loves him?

I’m just curious about Xilo.

Ella got SEVERE karma on her ass >:3 as they say:

“What goes around,comes around.”

⭔ׅ ،ㅤ“iii. 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖏𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖞 . ” 𓈒ㅤ𓂅 🕯️

Whatever happens... Xiloscient hates you for leaving him behind.

He was never intelligent with emotions, but why does he feel.. what’s that word? Sad. He’s selfish. Selfish for the feeling of love. He wants to feel love coursing through his veins, no matter what it takes.

You gave that feeling to him, and he adored it.

Yet, you had the nerve to just steal it away from him. He desperately tried to catch it, that feeling, but failed at doing so. He failed to protect you.

And this lone man, could only look at the framed photos that exists of you and him.

No matter how painful it is to see you leave him by himself, he has to go on with his life. Like you wished for him, in your letter.

( listen to this for more tears💞 also xiloscient reminds me of the song Atlantis because he couldn't save mc omg ?!?!? )

“to the one that i love,

if you get this letter, that means i'm dead. my suicide isn't something that should stop you from living happily. you can live without me, okay?

i wanted to die happy, xilo. i really did— you helped me achieve that, my love.

i don't... like myself at all. in the back of my mind, i died emotionally and is waiting for my last breath physically. i've always been the patient one.

but i'm sick of waiting patiently for this feeling to be over. i hate myself. why can't i be better? i long for the feeling of self-love.

i'm tired of loving and loving, and not feeling loved.

all of this is my fault.

it was night when i died. i think so much but talk so little. nobody noticed, nobody understood like you did.

do you remember when... i woke up i see.. you with me? and you said, "as long as i'm here, no one can hurt you." while cupping my face, you continued with "if i could change the way that you see yourself, you wouldn't wonder why you're here. they don't deserve you."

why didn't you leave like everyone else? i hate you, i hate you so much.

i don't want your pity, and i don't want your tears. but... i want you to let me go. you must let go and live on without me, xiloscient.

look at the stars. the ones that shines the brightest are also the ones that blends into the hollow night as the light disappears. we're all like stars. like the stars, the light that bores would flicker before it being complete darkness.

the stars describe us humans, xilo. at first, we could be as bright as the sun, but at the end, that light would fade. it describes the life cycle. it describes what we feel. a tunnel with light emitting at the start, but you can't find the ending. i'm sorry i left, it was for the best— though, it never felt right. i love you.

my last request for you;

let go.

from,

someone who left.”

Lily of the Valley and chrysanthemums would appear on your grave, with each drop of tear that lands on your headstone.

Some would leave forget-me-not flowers on your grave, hoping for it to grow— and it did.

What pains Xiloscient the most is that your family would never know that you’re not here anymore. Your funeral was held in your original realm, in the human realm— but nobody had the guts to tell your family that you died.

They have to live with the fact that their child is missing, without knowing whether they are alive or not.

Sobs could be heard as it echoed in the dark and rainy day, as Xiloscient’s umbrella left his grip, falling onto the ground.

He could not live with the fact that you're gone. You aren’t here anymore.

He dare not say a word. He could only wipe his tears agressively while snot runs down his nose.

A pair of ghostly hands wrapped around his torso, though he could not feel it. You closed your eyes and let him weep in your arms, aware that he cannot see a soul from the afterlife.

The shining golden halo floats on your head, visible cracks present. Your wings were filled with black feathers with a tiny of white.

Oh how you could let him weep onto your shoulders for the first time.

©atl4ntxc 2022. any type of reposting, copying, altering, or translating is forbidden.

[corpiote]

I did a 10 pull on the wonderland gacha without thinking

I'm going to kms now🙃

[soul-lime]

If any of you find this post, I tagged it with his names. I can't find his account in my follows or following and his @ is gone.

They've deleted their account, which- I think we can assume why.

[tiny-space-robot]

y´all wanna read some vent? no? well here we go

on new years, my father kept on pressuring me to talk about my mental health, because I keep spontaneously crying. and I kept saying no, because I genuinely do not want to talk about it. especially not to him.

but he kept on and on and on. mind you, he was once again drunk off his a** while doing so.

eventually, the mandatory family “””celebration””” was finally over, my siblings left and I was able to retreat back to my room

but then my father just bursts in and I have a verbally violent argument with him where he kept screaming at me to talk and at that point, I was convinced he was going to actually strike me if I don´t give in. but I kept denying, eventually starting to cry again, out of anger this time

that´s when HE started crying and begging me to just talk, which is when I gave in (because my father is usually very non emotional. hell, the only emotion he shows every day is anger) so of course, seeing him cry affected me

so I told my parents everything, from my crippling anxiety to the thoughts of su*cide

and you want to hear what happened then?

as if I f*cking pressed a button, that manipulative piece of garbage IMEDIATELY stopped crying. because he got what he wanted from me. I talked.

and even though I told him that I feel like deleting myself would be a better option than to keep going through everything I suffer through, he just puts his arm around me, no longer crying, and tells me “don´t worry, you don´t need to kill yourself.” and he says it so nonchalantly, as if I told him I have the flu.

and he says “dont kill yourself, because I need you here.” and he didn´t say it in a “my own child killing themselves would destroy me” sorta way. no. he said it as if he meant “you belong to me. I want you to stay here in this house forever. because you are my child and therefore my property.”

and then he just? let me go back to my room. alone. without any other word.

and as I sat there on my bed, with a boxcutter literally right next to me. I thought ´there is nothing stopping me from ending myself right here right now´

but, you know, thankfully I didn´t. I spoke to my partner and then went to sleep.

the next day, I woke up to my mother making sure I was okay. she even brought me a lot of my favorite candies and snacks and told me how much it shocked her to hear me say all that.

my father though? not another word. as if nothing ever happened.

in fact, he went right back to yelling at me about trivial sh*t like he always does.

and well, even though my mother is also back to acting like nothing was said now, at least she gave a sh*t. at least she acted like an actual mother who possesses empathy and tries her best even though she doesn´t understand mental health.

so yes, I am not doing okay. I am very damaged, but I at least learned that, even though my mother doesn´t understand mental health, she still at least tries to.

and I also learned that my father is much much worse than I always thought and that he doesn´t deserve to be called my father

[amysmusings-archive]

Perfectist brain everytime I make a mistake:

My perfectionist brain everytime its reminded I am human:

My perfectionist brain everytime someone reacts negatively to me:

My brain whenever I:

[medium-kat07]

"c!Wilbur should apologize for-" HE FUCKING KILLED HIMSELF AND HE'S OUT HERE APOLOGIZING TO OTHER NO HE FUCKING SHOULD NOT. LISTEN TO ME IF MY FRIEND FUCKING OFFED THEMSELVES AND CAME BACK THE LAST THING I WANT TO FUCKING HEAR IS "I'm sorry" NO. NO. I'M SORRY I'M SORRY YOU FELT LIKE YOU HAD TO DO THAT. I'M SORRY YOU THINK YOU NEED TO APOLOGIZE. YEAH YEAH HE SHOULD APOLOGIZE FOR BLOWING UP L'MANBURG BUT FOR KILLING HIMSELF? ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? ARE YOU? HE SHOULD NEVER HAVE TO SAY THAT NOBODY SHOULD. NOBODY. I DON'T FUCKING CARE OH MY GODDDDDD

[c6scaramouche]

Not gonna lie, I'm feeling increasingly uncomfortable living in the US. And I'm not exactly sure what to do about it. It's not like it's an easy thing to move in terms of money, family & friends, language, etc.

Like, I joke about moving a lot, but some days I'm just so tired of this shithole of a country that cares more about profit, war, and violence rather than its own citizens' lives.

There are a few things alright about America, but the cons feel incredibly heavy nowadays compared to the pros.

Anyway, I just needed to rant because I'm currently feeling pretty distressed about it.

People always berate me for not wanting to live by this world's way of life and standards and get confused when I ask them if they do.

"Well that's just reality!"

Yeah. And that's why me and many other people want to kill ourselves rather than live in this 'reality'. (Don't worry, I'm not suicidal at the moment, my mental health is as stable as it's ever been)

This entire 'world' was created by us; everything is a social construct. And we can fucking change it if we really wanted to. But unfortunately, the disgusting greed of individualistic assholes is much louder than the rest of us.

I meant to end this already but my mind keeps thinking of more bullshit.

Anyways, ignore this. And if for some ungodly reason someone reads this and feels the need to be an asshole in replies, you'll be blocked immediately :)

[bronzetomatoes]

[neoflames]

been watching Skizz and Iskall today

[queersatanic]

I thought you were always supposed to call the police on a suicidal person? Cause they are a danger to themselves? That’s what the hotlines do. They take you to clinics? Right? What else do I do if my friend calls me saying she has a gun?? Do i call her parents?? That’s a large mental strain for every party. But you just saying “never call the cops” sounds very biased

"Don't call the fugitive-slave catchers on a suicidal person" seems to be pretty straightforward, right? "Don't call the strikebreakers on someone in a mental health crisis", "don't call the Stasi on someone who is a danger to themselves."

Because you're not calling someone whose job it is to help anyone going through a traumatic experience but to control the social order for the benefit of the owner class and status quo.

Someone who is upsetting the status quo and creating disorder — by, for example, screaming that they are Jesus Christ returned and need to die again — is someone police see as needing removed from society one way or another.

If your friend calls you telling you she has a gun, you keep her on the phone as long as you can and try to get people near her to help her. If you can, you go over yourself.

"That’s a large mental strain for every party." — right, and the fact that the easy thing is to call a government-approved gang to go over there and handle the situation for you is exactly the opposite of an endorsement of that response.

From the post you're ultimately responding to:

The Revolution™ is fun to imagine and involves no pain. But the real world does involve pain, and it’s necessary to exercise the muscles needed for future work and opportunities.

Life is not easy and neither are our responsibilities to our fellow people. That doesn't mean it's not worth doing. It is. It's just also very hard.

[waspcup]

literally so fucking embarrassing to have a favorite character bc it will have you sitting there thinking things such as "omg he experiences the 5 senses" and "omg he wears clothes and feels the texture of them on his skin" and "omg he eats food and tastes it" and "omg he sleeps with his eyes closed in a bed with sheets" Like be honest should i just kill myself at this point

[coachbeards]

You know what will help? Going to see the woman you love. Exactly. But it's clear to me that Coach Beard doesn't think he's worthy of Jane.

TED LASSO | 2.09 "beard after hours"

[aritany]

On Identity: The Truth

Content warnings: homophobia, transphobia, references to self harm and suicide.

I’ve been keeping secrets my whole life.

I’m 10 and I’m listening to my dad at the dinner table, who I know to be the most trustworthy person in the world. He talks about the legalization of marriage between two people of the same sex and asks us to consider the implications. Where do we draw the line in the sand? Legalizing gay marriage paves the way for legalizing pedophilia, after all. If a union between two men or two women isn’t disrespecting the sanctity of marriage, what’s next? Marriage between men and animals?

I’m 11 the first time I hear it: “It doesn’t matter how low I set the bar for you, you still can’t reach it.”

I’m confused and afraid—I’m trying so hard—but I hear it then, and again, and again, spoken low in disappointment, shouted with a vein popping in her forehead, cold like a fact, and it sinks in, bone deep.

I’m 12 with my first crush on a girl. I’m not confused, I know that’s what it is—I want to kiss my friend, and I already know not to talk about it. Never to talk about it. It isn’t safe.

I’m 13 and doubting. I throw myself into fitting in. I pick the right boys to like and I go overboard, and I do like them, I do, I do, I want them to like me, I want to be their friend. I want to be their equal, but that’s not quite how the story goes, so I settle for trying to hold hands with somebody I desperately crave respect from, but that’s wrong too, I learn. 

I’m 14 and convicted. How could this be wrong? I brush hands with a girl in choir and we meet eyes and I know. I watch a gay kiss on TV and I sob into my hands and I tell no one, no one, no one.

I’m 15 and I come out to my mom, haltingly, with the terminology that I have, because the thought of hiding forever—keeping quiet through one more dinner—kills me.

She tells me no. She tells me I’m wrong.

I look in her eyes and I understand: it’s not an option, and it never will be.

I’m 15 and I do my best to stop there.

It doesn’t work.

I’m 16 when I first hear my mom say that you can love someone and not approve of their lifestyle. I wonder what kind of love that is. I wonder how that kind of diluted, half-hearted, patronizing love can be enough for anyone. I wonder if she’s thought about how that feels, to be told that who you are—not by choice—is fundamentally wrong.

I’m 16 and a boyfriend is a shield. The right choice, so I make it, and it’s even almost fun. I love being his friend. I’m afraid of anything more.

I’m 17 and my youngest sibling whispers, “So am I.”

My heart breaks for the pain they’ll experience, as they too are taught, painstakingly, how to hate themself. Which parts of themself have to be kept hidden, which parts are shameful. They sit at that dinner table and hear the rhetoric that pushed me to the brink and over it, and I hope they’re stronger than I am.

They aren’t.

I’m 18 and my mom works at a college for the performing arts. I sit and curdle quietly while she talks about her genderqueer students. Misgenders them behind their backs. Deadnames used flippantly. She knows better, after all. She can be the expert on somebody else’s identity. They’re mentally ill, all of them. None of them are happy. They’re searching for something only God can provide.

I’m 19 and I come out as bisexual to the man I’m certain I’m going to marry, tearing the secret out like a bandage fused to skin. He tells me of course it’s fine, that he supports who I am. Of course people like me should have rights, of course. I laugh, relieved. Later, I find out this moment was almost a dealbreaker for him, and I wonder how much was ever real.

I’m 20 and I’m out. I’m 20 and I’m free. I’m 20 and I believe, because I’ve been told, that I am loved for who I am. All of who I am. I still flinch when I hear a car door slam.

I’m 21 and I’m searching for the connection to my womanhood. I’m searching for what makes a woman a woman. I’m reading gender theory and talking to friends around the world and wondering exactly what it is that I’m missing.

What does the rest of the world know that I don’t?

I’m 22 when my marriage ends because my body might not be attractive to my husband one day, and my parents email him in support and solidarity, expressing sympathy, and I’m not surprised.

I’m 22, and standing up for who I am has cost me everything. A spouse, two sets of parents, financial security, a city’s worth of community, more childhood friends than I can count. My parents tell me to go back in the closet so my ex-husband will love me. To them, his frustration is understandable, of course—by presenting androgynously, I’m betraying my marriage vows, after all.

I wonder, stunned into silence, where I promised to look like a woman.

I’m 23 when I come out to my parents for the third time; not as bisexual, not as trans, but as hurt. 

I lay out the pain of the last decade as succinctly as I can, hoping they’ll hear. When I assert that yes, to be in relationship with me, use of my name and pronouns is a requirement, my mother jokes, “Well, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

It’s not a joke.

I see the flash in her eyes, the instant regret as she laughs it off like it’s funny, but it isn’t.

The kid sitting at the dinner table knows it’s not a joke. The kid who listened to countless lectures on the morality of queerness knows it’s not a joke. The kid who stood with shaking hands and tried to bleed out the bad knows it’s not a joke. Years of casual bigotry taught me how to hate myself, which parts of myself I should cross out and ignore, which parts of myself I should be ashamed of.

I’m 23, and I have finally unlearned shame, and when I ask my parents to see me, the joke is that I’m a terrorist. I’m unreasonable.

The shock of it becomes a balm, later on.

Some jokes aren’t funny.

Some jokes aren’t jokes at all.

I’m 24 and I’m learning that it’s scary to be alone. Bigotry made me an orphan and made us strangers, and knowing that it’s the right choice to stand up for myself doesn’t make it any easier. I’m learning the only way out is through, if you’re not squeamish:

Cut off the part of yourself that’s 7 years old standing outside of their bedroom because the nightmare had teeth and claws and they are the heroes that will hold you close and make it warm again.

Amputate.

Cauterize.

Don’t let them see you bleed.

I’m learning that the wound takes a long, long time to close.

I’m 25 as I write this, and I am proud of who I am, even if I’m still bleeding. All of who I am. It’s taken a long time for me to let that person see the sun, but here we are, basking in the glow. Those wounds are healing. I am visible for everyone else who whispers, “So am I.”

Your sunshine will come. Your sunshine will come. 

Your sunshine will come.

[djarin]

you know what was so important to me about seeing ed spiral from his mental health in this season? his mental illnesses weren’t used for comedic purposes. they weren’t the butt of a joke, they weren’t there to “lighten the mood” by being ridiculed, and we didn’t see a demonization of mental illness. instead, what we got was edward being raw and vulnerable and lost in a way that was purely authentic and true to what he was going through.

all of that, along with the “let’s list the pros and cons of staying alive” is something that is so important to so many of us who have struggled with depression, anxiety, suicide, etc in our own lives. i know for a fact that i’m not the only one who’s had to sit down to think, “what are the good and bad things about staying alive right now?”

ed lists warmth, good food, and orgasms as his pros. “orgasms” is there to give us a good laugh, sure, but guess what? it’s also there because ed, unfiltered and desperate, is blurting out what makes him feel good, and therefore, want to stay alive.

it doesn’t have to be a massive list of pros and cons. sometimes, it’s the simple things that keep us going, and that’s more than enough.