When Dennis was sixteen, he crept out to the barn one night and found the captive bolt pistol they used to euthanise the cattle. He pressed it to his forehead, breathed in deeply, and let his finger flutter against the trigger.
He didn't kill himself that night, but he wrestled with the thought for long after. When it returns to him, he reminds himself that he isn't a livestock animal whose dead body can be fashioned into food or material. His dead body will be an inconvenience. He'll be miserable while he lives but—through silent labour and selfless support—at least he will be useful.
Forgive yourself for the way you behaved when you were in pain. You didn't mean to drag your loved ones down with you. You were only thrashing and flailing and trying to not to drown. They didn't leave because you were a bad person. They left because they couldn't save you and had to save themselves. It's not an indictment of either your worth or their love. You didn't ask too much, they just couldn't be what you needed and had to make space for someone who could.
In another life, where you had had the help you deserved, where you had had the space to breathe, where something had been different, it wouldn't have happened. Sometimes, it's all just a consequence of circumstances outside of our control. None of you deserved any of this, and you all get to hurt and grieve and be angry that it all fell out this way. But don't be ashamed that the pain got the best of you. You didn't fall short any more than they did. You just became overwhelmed.
woke up with Stick Season in my head thinking about Sam's first winter break at Stanford. he drinks like he's Dean, but his tolerance has never been as high so he's perpetually hungover and increasingly depressed. he's always felt alone but he's never been stuck on an empty collage campus with nothing to do except drink and think about the month they spent in Vermont when he was fifteen and how he thought he was in love with Dean even though they wouldn't kiss for the first time until that summer. it doesn't even feel like winter in Palo Alto and it separates him from the passage of time too
Dean's actually in Vermont. Dad doesn't remember that this is the same shitty motel where he spent a January trying not to touch his little brother. he drinks himself to sleep and fucks women whose names he doesn't catch on the bed Sam should be sleeping in. one morning he wakes up and Dad's gone on his own hunt. he didn't leave Dean instructions. Dean sits and thinks about cleaning his gun and killing himself, but he doesn't move for hours. no one notices
i recently wrote an essay about the lack of education on suicidality/self-harm and it made me realize that we should be listening to what suicidal/self-harming individuals want people to know about mental illness
so: please send asks sharing about what you wish people knew about mental health/illness!! they can be as specific or as broad as you’d like!
The Gates of Hell are slammed shut, and Sammy is gone. Lost without the one thing Dean built his life around, Dean is trapped in a cycle of grief full of drinking, hunting, and burrying himself in memories; and he’s ready for it to finally kill him too. But one part of him still wants to live. It’s small, so small Dean barely even feels it, but it’s strong. Strong enough to keep him from pulling the trigger every time he stares down the barrel of his gun. Strong enough to pray. Strong enough to summon Castiel, who he’s been estranged from since the day Sam died. But it might not be enough. They didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, and Dean never was good at letting others in. Not when he’s convinced they’re better off without him.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
As much as it hurts thinking about Sam, Castiel is worse. Dean shuffles to push himself off the bed, but flops back seconds later in defeat.
Hard as he tries to fight it, he can’t help but thinking of his former best friend. The way they left things. The way the tiniest part of himself still clings to the stupid hope that he could get the angel back, and that maybe things might get better.
Ha! As if.
Dean will be alone until he finally dies.
There’s a familiar rustle.
Dean snaps his head up and blinks. His vision is pretty blurry already, but he knows he’s gotten more wasted than this. He’s not one to see things that aren’t there. And right there by his bed, completely disheveled but still wearing the same damn trenchcoat Dean could never imagine him without, stands Castiel.
“Hello Dean.” Castiel’s voice is gruff, and hoarse, and, as much as it doesn’t make sense to be, very real.
“C— Cas?” Dean stutters out. “Wh—”
He can’t finish that question. He doesn’t know what question he’s asking. Eyes adjusting to having something to look at, Dean finally notices the angel’s expression. Castiel is looking down, away from Dean, hurt.
The angel stiffens at Dean’s voice. Right, it’s a freaking wreck. Exactly like Dean is.
“I wasn’t sure if I should come,” Castiel admits. “Given our last encounter…”
Dean stares dumbly, brain struggling to string together the clear but unbelievable picture of what’s happening right in front of him.
“Look, you were the one who prayed—”
“Yeah, that was ‘n accident, man.” Dean can feel the alcohol slurring his speech and hates himself a little more for it.
“Oh.”
“What’ve you been up to, anyways?”
“Fighting angels, mostly.” Castiel sighs. He goes on, voice droning through the noise in Dean’s head, but he doesn’t absorb anything more than the vague sense of angelic bullshit he has no part of. The angel trails off, raising an eyebrow at Dean as if expecting him to be able to offer anything.
“Good for you, what’re you doin’ here?” Dean grumps.
Castiel frowns. “I guess… I just thought…”
Dean stares back.
Castiel sighs once more, sounding as defeated as Dean feels. “Never mind. I’ll be off, then…”
For a second, nothing happens, to the point where Dean thinks Castiel might actually stay. But just as he lets himself believe, just as he’s about to open his mouth to try to say something real, the angel flies away. Dean stares at the space after him, no trace of the angel’s fleeting presence at all.
Re: your post about theories of suicidality. Funny thing about me. For many years I was very (passively) suicidal and also a huge masochist, but when I got on antidepressants, obvi the suicidal thoughts went away, but so did the masochism lol I went from “cover me in bruises hit me bite me I love it all” to “dude you poked me too hard 😭”
Honestly that’s interesting but also makes a lot of sense. I think I honestly lost a lot of motivation to write whump as I have become less mentally ill but it hasn’t really made me less of a sadomasochist (which I’m glad for, I think I’d be upset if taking mental health meds made me sexually normal)
suicide isn't a moral failure. it's not the result of someone failing mental health treatment. it's not because they didn't try hard enough, or didn't want to get better.
it is the result of an individual having to cope with things so profoundly distressing to the human bodymind. this can be emotions, past trauma, sociopolitical environments, financial difficulties, relationship issues, current abuse/neglect, chronic illness, and so much more.
at a certain point, the brain has long since kicked into survival mode, and is literally slamming the gas on every base-brain survival instinct it has. freeze: you cease to exist; you cannot do anything and you (as you existed alive) will not be seen. fight: against the self, others, society, love, hate, future suffering, etc. flight: you are no longer in the state/situation you were in (but where are you, then?)
the most heartbreaking, IMO/IME, is fawn. the belief that the world is better off without you. the relief that now you will not burden anyone. the hope that maybe they'll remember you kindly, despite the cruelty while you were alive. or, even, hoping no one remembers you at all, so not even your memory can trouble others.
does that sound like failure to you? or does that sound like someone who has been so, incredibly, deeply hurt throughout their life - maybe without them even noticing, clearly or at all - that they can't see themselves existing.
and moreover: do you think shame, blame, and interrogation will make that person want to stay alive? or do you think they'll just internalize it until they "make a permanent decision to a temporary problem?"
(case to be made all decisions are permanent and all problems are temporary but that's enough, me)
