[stay-close]

And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can't ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it's already happened.

— Douglas Coupland, Life After God

[mynewurl]

have you ever just cried because you’re you

[writtenly]

It’s been a few hours, you’ve just been hanging there. You’ve been quiet, too quiet. Usually there’s music playing, or your foot steps could be heard. But today, you’re quiet. Your little sister, who doesn’t normally come to greet you because you lock yourself away, decides to see what you’re doing. She assumes you’re taking a nap, or doing some homework quietly. She runs up the stairs, eager to see, but she comes to an immediate halt. You’re not doing your homework, nor taking a nap. Your music isn’t playing and you aren’t walking around. You’re hanging there, completely still, now just like her. At this moment, her whole world shatters. Everything she has ever known, looked up to, loved, is hanging there by a thread. At this moment, her life has been changed forever. At this moment, she wishes she was hanging with you.

Before you decide to take your life, imagine who will find you. Imagine them walking into a room, and seeing you just hanging there. Whether it be your little sister, little brother, mother father, grandparents, a friend. Imagine what will happen when they find you. No, they will not say “Finally, they’re gone.” No, they will not say “I’m happy they did that.” No, they will not say “I never loved them anyways.” They will die. Their hearts will break. They will hurt, more than you ever could. They will cry, scream, and break down. They’ll believe it’s all just a dream, praying to wake up. Except, they won’t feel that for a few seconds, or a few days, not weeks, nor months. They will feel that until the day they die. Everyday will be hell. They’ll think of you ever second. They’ll hate themselves for not being able to help or save you. They’ll wish they could die too. They’ll want to give up, just to be with you. They won’t be ever be happy again. They won’t smile. They won’t go back to their daily routine. They’ll die every time they walk past your room, or see a picture of you, or think of a memory with you. They’ll think, but stay quiet. They’ll visit your grave, feeling a knife go through their chest every time. And every morning when they wake up, no matter how long it’s been, they’ll wake up to thinking they’ll see you, only to be let down once again. And every night, they will cry themselves to sleep, because even though they refuse to admit it, know you’re gone forever.

Before you decide to take your life, think of your family, burying you. Yes, your own mother and father are planning your funeral. It’s supposed to be the other way around, but it’s not. They’ll have to call the cops, sign a death certificate, pick out clothing, buy a tomb stone, a casket, pick out flower arrangements, and more; All for their child’s funeral. The morning of your funeral, everyone who loves you is wearing black. Tears are streaming down their face, while their heart is breaking. Everyone who you thought didn’t need you, or didn’t care, are waiting in line to see you. They aren’t waiting in line at a party, or a graduation, or at a wedding reception. They’re waiting to see you, hands folded, lifeless, in a casket.

Before you decide to take your life, think of everyone you will be hurting. Don’t you dare say no one, because absolutely everyone will be affected. Your grandparents, won’t have a grandchild anymore. Your parents, won’t have a child anymore. Your brother or sister, won’t have a sibling anymore. Your pet, won’t have an owner anymore. That person you sit next to in class, won’t feel your presence anymore. Your teacher, won’t have a student anymore. That time your grandparents told you no, will haunt them forever, thinking it is their fault, that you are now dead. That time your parents yelled at you, will haunt them forever, thinking if they didn’t yell at you, you would still be here. That time your sibling said they hated you, will hate themselves, because they believe you would still be alive if they said they loved you instead. Those kids who made you feel bad, will wish they were dead too, because if they just smiled at you instead, you would be here. That teacher that said you didn’t meet her expectations, will feel like a failure, because you would still be here, if she believed in you. Everyone, who has ever been in your presence, will hurt, because if they showed you they cared, you would still be here.

Before you decide to take your life, think. Don’t just think of yourself, think of the consequences for everyone else. No one’s life will be the same again. That person who God made specially for you, won’t have you. That happiness that was waiting for you, will never show again. Before you decide to take your life, realize that you may be ending your pain, but you’ll be starting a lifetime of everyone elses.

If you are feeling alone, and think that suicide is the only way out:

My ask is open, and I’m always here. I’ll never judge you. I’ll try to help you.

If you are thinking of taking your life, call:

1-800-784-2433

1-800-SUICIDE

[deactivated-4269-deactivated201]

You stupid motherfuckers, don’t you dare not reblog this. Because this deserves 100K notes more than pictures of your favourite gay couple or cute cats, and yet it has 243 notes. 243 fucking notes? Fuck that. Fucking signal boost this.

[thatpositivelife]

I wish she had seen this.

[mashtonpotatoes]

You could save a life tonight with just one reblog

[sad-butsassy]

oh god I wish he had seen this that night

[destined4nirvana]

guys you could save a life tonight I dont care if your a colour blog or whatever reblog this now

[confusedwithhell]

[sugahoneysweet]

[sulfur]

[coral]

Once you had put the pieces back together, even though you may look intact, you were never quite the same as you’d been before the fall.

Jodi Picoult (via feellng)

[discolor3d]

[lindseyhmu]

I hate how addicted I get to anything that makes me feel anything

(via burmous)

[redsnowflakess]

[redsnowflakess]

Please does anybody knows where is this from?

[hedgewitches]

just because your idea of a good time is curling up with a book and hers is doing tequila shots does not make you a better person than her

[redsnowflakess]

[oxygenstarvedsmoke]

[hplyrikz]

Sometimes people just want to be happy, even if it’s not real.

Veronica Roth, Insurgent (via hplyrikz)

[hereislight]

This is not meant to be a sob story. This is a poem to make you understand. In the past year alone, I have attempted suicide 4 times. In the past year, the police have come to my house 2 times. In the past year I ran out of resources and had to check myself into a treatment center. In the treatment center, there was a girl who had welts on her arm deeper than mine. It looked like she had punched her fist through a glass window the way life had punched the life out of her. In the treatment center there was a girl who had hallucinations about a man standing in the corner that terrified her so much that she couldn’t stand still. In the year before the last one, I had two suicide attempts. I was checked into an ER for my overdose then a psychiatric hospital. This is a poem about all the people who have been bounced back to a hospital every time they thought they got their life back together only to let their mental illness catch them off guard again. This is a poem for all the people who are so weak that they cannot stand on their own. This is a poem for the people whose eating disorders are so strong that they will refuse food even when they weigh 70 pounds and are forced by hospital staff to be fed by a tube. This is a poem for the people who have more hospital bracelets than they do friends. This is a poem about how I have to take 8 pills a day to function somewhat normally. This is a poem about how I had to drop out of public school because my mental illness has interfered with my eating, my breathing, my sleeping, and my ability to live. This is a poem about how I cannot count the number of people who have told me they wanted to die on two hands. This is a poem about the 400,000 emergency room visits for self inflicted injury in 2001. This is a poem for the 30,622  people who committed suicide in 2001. This is a poem for everybody with a mental illness who is more scared of being judged than they are of death. This is a poem for everybody who has wanted to bleed away their pain. This is a poem for everyone that wanted to disappear, hoping that if they shot themselves, if they crashed their car, that if they jumped off the roof of a building, that they might shatter. This is a poem for everyone who has tried to choke the pain out of their life. This is a poem for everyone who hoped that an overdose would be a peaceful death. This is a fuck you to every hallucination, every manic episode, every depressive episode, every flashback, every panic attack, every nightmare, every suicide attempt, every hospital visit, every purge, every laxative, every crash diet, every single doctor that told you you were doing it for attention, every single bully that didn’t know what they were driving you to, every family member that ever looked at you like you were a freak, everybody that ever told you to “get over it”, everybody who told you that you were faking it. Everybody who ever told you that it wasn’t a big deal. Would you still be saying the same thing at our funerals? Do us all a favor and tell us how beautiful we “were” while we’re still alive. How beautiful we are . This is a poem for everyone who ever thought the world would be better off without them. This is poem for everyone who ever needed somebody to just listen without judging. This is a poem for everyone who just needs someone to care or believe in them. This is not meant to be a sad poem. This is not a poem about overexaggeration. It is a poem about reality. It is a poem to finally make you understand. We are more than statistics. We are stories.

This Is Not A Sad Poem (via expresswithsilence)

[inkskinned]

it’s just you said you’d listen to my story after you were done on the phone but when i came back you asked what was “so goddamn important” i couldn’t stop nagging you about it and since it was something stupid i was just hoping would make you laugh so i told you to forget about it it’s just you said you’d read my writing and not laugh at it but in reality i’ve never stopped being a joke in this family because in middle school i wrote dark short stories where the main character died and yeah in retrospect maybe that’s funny but there’s also a reason why since then i don’t show you anything because at thirteen hearing you refuse to take my work seriously didn’t really make me feel like laughing it’s just you said that school was important but at the same time would get so pissed at me if i stayed up doing homework all i would hear is “why didn’t you start this earlier” and when i tried to explain i had other things to do i was told “i don’t want to hear it just get it done” and when i ever mentioned that i was stressed to the point of breaking into glass pieces you always rolled your eyes and said “you don’t even know what stress is” even though when i asked for help on projects you’d barely even look at it before deciding it was too difficult it’s just you’ve never said that you’re proud of me only told me the things i should be fixing like how i’m kind of getting a tummy and my hair is always messy and how i’ll never get married if i don’t start being more mature and how i need to work on being the perfect student or i’ll never amount to anything and i need to patch up my personality i don’t know but when you asked me why i’ve been “so distant lately it’s kind of bitchy” i got as far as “it’s just” before you said “don’t start with me.” i don’t know what you want. i wish i could just leave.

“Are your parents supposed to make you hate yourself?” /// (r.i.d)

[thedaysofmissswagga-deactivated]

When you resist the pain of hunger, it means you’re not a slave of your body

(via thedaysofmissswaggajody)