Panic! At The Gunshot @panicxatxthexgunshot - Tumblr Blog

What do you do when you realize that no amount of crying about it, no amount of talking about it, no amount of drinking about it, no amount of abusing drugs, nothing is going to make it okay. The only way out is dying. If not that, it’s a life full of unending pain

yousaveeveryonebutwhosavesyou

foolisland

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️

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pathological liar.

strong words . but it is true. I lie , a lot. I lie because I tell you I am okay. I lie because I tell you I’m going to sleep when in reality I’m up all night thinking whether or not I want to live another day. I lie because I tell you I am taking my meds, when in all honesty I stopped taking them weeks ago because you “are happy” with who I was becoming . but that person was not me. I lie when I tell you I’m taking a long hot shower because I want to relax, but I’m sitting in the bathtub with a blade in my hand and the water following every single stroke like a burning line of Fire because ... I want to die. I lie because I can’t bear to see the look on your face when I tell you “ I give up.” I lie when I tell you “ I’m not hungry I just ate.” because I’m fat and need a flat stomach. I lie when I tell you I’m feeling cute because .. who likes an insecure bitch. I lie because life is unaccepting. I lie because it’s better off this way. I am a chronic liar. and when you find out the truth...

im sorry.

Help.

It’s hard on the tongue. It feels as if I will never be able to mouth the word help. The word that means save me I’m dying. The word that eventually will become the reason for my self harm, my drug addictions, my .. loss of faith. Help . Easy to type . Hard to understand. Do I want someone to know what I’ve been doing? Yes–No. Do I want someone to see what I’ve done to myself? Ye—No. Do I want someone to know I’m vulnerable, that I am easy to send head first into a pit of suicidal thoughts and tendencies? Yes.. but No. Do I want someone to hug me tight and tell me “it’s okay. I’ve got you.”? Yes.. urm No. It’s like i want someone to hug me and tell me everything will be okay but also have no idea anything is wrong with me. Because if the word “help” comes out of my mouth, I will do nothing but regret it. Because no one can have the opportunity to tell me I am an attention seeker. Because nobody can have the opportunity to call me crazy. Because I don’t need help. I am perfectly okay on my own. help..

Home.

A home isn’t a home until ... well honestly I’m not sure what makes a home. But I know a home is not the place you dread coming back to every night. A home is not a home when you walk around the block 3-4 times before you go inside so you minimize the amount of time you have to stay awake in that home. A home is not a home when you stay out 2 hours after curfew and don’t care about getting in trouble because at least ... you aren’t “home”. Home is love. Home is not a place to me. Home is not a person. Home is a figure of my imagination. A place I dream about . Home is what I hope to find .

Suicide Diaries.

How does one say they don’t want to live anymore? How does one come clean and say “I’m suicidal.” You know I wonder sometimes . Am I fucking crazy? So here I am writing a story that won’t ever be read. No deleting of thoughts. No erasing of words. just raw me. Raw depressed me. Ever since I was a young girl. I always wondered to myself why everyone around me was always so mean. Maybe it’s because I was the girl in 4th grade who had no friends. Maybe it was because I was the girl in 4th grade with teeth who were so crooked you’d have a nicer view staring at the rear end of a .. well anything. Or maybe it’s because I just .. wasn’t a likeable person. But why? Why was I always the last one to get chosen by a captain in basketball?. I was the best! Why was I the last to be chosen for group projects ? I was so smart! Why was I the only one who didn’t have a friend to hug goodbye at the end of the school day? I give great hugs! and why? Why was I the only kid in 4th grade who didn’t get to run out the school doors and into their parents arms? why was I the only kid who walked home on their own, to am empty house. Oh but it was full. Just empty to me.