Suicidal Thoughts - Tumblr Posts
G1 thoughts on suicide are on point ⚠️ it will get better, trust me.
I feel like I’ve always wanted to be gone from this world as my life went on. From never making friends at school or failing classes and so many other things. I’ve always wanted to disappear, Even if I had to die. But I have never wanted to kill myself. I don’t think I could take the pain of doing it and knowing that my mother would find my dead body and wonder why. Why I would do this, and what happened to me. I don’t think I can imagine her standing over my coffin, crying over the daughter she gave birth to and raised. Who she raised the best she could as a single mother. I don’t think I could take the thought of imaging her standing over my grave on every major holiday crying because her baby is gone and she’s never coming back. It’s hard to think that nobody other than her would care but I know they would, but I could never do something like that to my mother. So I stay alive floating through life waiting for something interesting to happen, and when it does I hope I will still be here to witness it.
Chasing demons away
Requested by: @coldjudgestudentdeputy - Hello! I just want to say that your stories give me so much comfort and I am grateful for your writing. Could I request a comfort fic for Ikemen Vampire Comte with a self harming S/O. You don’t know how much you reading has helped me! Thank you so much! Much Love ❤️❤️❤️
Pairing: le Comte de Saint-Germain x reader
Warnings: selfharm, suicidal intentions, lots and lots of angst, gore
A/N: Thank you again for being so sweet dear! You’ve got no idea how happy that made me and how honoured I feel that I can continue to bring you comfort. I hope I did a good job... Also, I wrote the reader as gender neutral, if you’d like me to change it, just ask ;) I’ll be glad to write something for you again if you’d need. Sending lots of strength through this post!
* * * * *
Everybody has bad days, there is no shame in that. Sometimes you just feel under the weather, be it for one reason or another. But when this feeling just doesn’t want to go away, and days turn into weeks, which turn into months, it becomes a problem.
When you became Comte’s partner, he assured you that you no longer had to work alongside Sebastian if you didn’t want to. That was of course unthinkable, not only would you feel extremely guilty for putting extra work on the poor man’s shoulders, you liked your job at the mansion. And quite frankly, you didn’t know what else you would do. Let’s be honest, it’s not like you could really pursue a career in 19th century... And sure, you had your hobbies, but you certainly couldn’t compare to the likes of your housemates. At least, that’s what you thought.
Abandoning your old life was not an easy decision, but certainly not one you regretted. Most of the time that is. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but feel insecure. Sometimes, thoughts of doubt would haunt and taunt you, whispering delicately in your ears how you don’t belong and how foolish you are for giving up your life to a man for who you are just a spec in his never ending life.
Now, both you and Comte were busy people. Running a mansion and looking after it were not easy tasks, but you knew that whenever you needed it, you could rely on your lover, even when your thoughts made you want to turn the other way, just so he wouldn’t be worried. But he knew what sadness looks like, he knew it better than anyone, and seeing your eyes clouded by the emotion clawed at his old soul. When your thoughts were especially loud, it took him one look at your face to know just exactly what’s wrong. He would take you to his room or at least somewhere where you two could be alone, tugged you close to him and held you as long as you needed. No matter how hard it was, you two were always able to chase away those demons of yours and in those moments did you truly know that you loved him and he loved you.
But no matter how many times did your lover chase those monstrous thoughts away, they always came back. It started out small, barely noticeable. One day, the moment you opened your eyes, it was like a heavy blanket was draped across your soul. It made the world seem gray and blank. Without thinking much of it, you went about your day as usual.
The first one to call you out on your unusual behaviour was Vincent at breakfast “Is somehing wrong (Y/N)?” You were puzzled, was there something wrong? After shaking your head in confusion, the painter elaborated “Your eyes don’t shine as usual.” he said and looked at you with worried eyes. You smiled at him, despite how unnatural the action felt to you “I guess it’s just a bad day. I’ll be fine,”
Turns out Vincent wasn’t the only one who noticed the change. Dazai mentioned you weren’t smiling as usual and Sebastian pointed out how quiet you are. On one hand you felt flattered that they noticed such a small detail about you, but a small voice in your head whispered “Look how worried you make them.”
The next days weren’t any better. But you were determined to not make anyone worried. For a while, it seemed to work. You concentrated on your daily tasks and dodged every question with “I’m fine.” and the best smile you could muster up. But it seemed the blanket didn’t want to be lifted at all. Every day you woke up more tired than before and pretending you were fine just so you wouldn’t worry anyone was becoming harder and harder each day.
It was not long before Comte noticed how your eyes weren’t clouded by just any sadness, but weighed down by immense pain. He questioned you about it, but you were stubborn, one of your traits he oh so loved about you, but now it did more harm than good. Through careful prodding he got out of you that you were indeed not fine, but didn’t wish to talk about it. That it was for his sake you didn’t say out loud, he didn’t need to know that.
Time passed and all the residents became quite worried for you. Whenever they approached you, asking how you were and if you would like to maybe go out, all you could see was the worry in their eyes. “You’re not doing well enough!” your mind tormented you “They shouldn’t have to worry about you, they have enough problems already!” And so the only rational thing in that moment was to isolate yourself even more. You were hurting, and just because you refused to share your pain with the others, you still needed an outlet.
“Ma chérie, do you know where is my razor?” Comte asked you from the bathroom attached to his room. “No idea, mon cher.” you answered innocently, but you couldn’t help the guilt that swirled in your gut at that lie. You really didn’t want to steal from your lover, the idea itself horrible and the act even worse, but there was no other way. You would take care of this problem, one way or another. “Oh well, seems I’ve lost it.” Comte made a mental note to ask Sebastian to buy him a new one once he’ll go out for groceries “I’ll be in my study, if you need me.” he gave you a kiss on the forehead and left you in the bedroom. Alone.
It was late in the afternoon when you finally got back to the room you shared with your lover. Dark thoughts plagued your mind the whole day and you were anxiously anticipating this moment. Slowly and carefully you took out the razor your lover ‘lost’ this morning. You sat on your side of the bed, eyes roaming the shining object in your hand. You slowly put one of your hands on your thigh, wrist facing up and brought the tip of the razor to your wrist. “Now or never.” your mind ordered.
Slice.
That... That wasn’t so bad. You haven’t done this in a long while, but it surprized you how easy it was. You could already feel the pressure easing away from your body, your eyes set on the cut that was quickly becoming darker with your blood. But it wasn’t enough. “Only one cut? What are you, a coward? Make it at least four!” the voice ordered. And you complied.
Soon, your whole wrist was covered in blood. As you came down from the high, you started panicking. How were you going to hide this from everyone?? They’d be so disappointed if they found out, you thought. “Or you could just finish the job.” your mind whispered. You knew where the artery in your hand was. How easy would it be to just slice it pen and let the river of blood flow out? You wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore. Nobody would have to worry about you anymore. Comte could find someone more stable than you. It’s what he deserved anyway...
The tip of the razor moved towards the outer side of your wrist. You were so numb that it almost felt like it moved on its own. Just as you began pressing down, a familiar voice interrupted your actions “Put the blade down ma chérie.”
Comte was pleased to find out that it had been only the afternoon when he was done with his work. He didn’t have to go to Sebastian immediately then. He got up and started walking to his room, to search for his lost razor for the last time. Now he wished he lost it.
Just as he opened the door, the strong scent of blood hit his nose like a slap to the face. Eyes quickly searched the room and to his horror, he found you sitting on the bed, his razor in your hand, fresh cuts on your wrist. You didn’t seem to notice him, eyes fixed on your wrist, the tip of the blade slowly moving towards a place where nothing sharp should ever touch you.
“Put the blade down ma chérie.” he softly called out to you, closing the door quietly behind him as he took a few steps forward. One wrong move and he could lose you. And he didn’t want to risk that. You whirled around to face him, eyes widened in panic, mouth opened a bit. Tears were streaming down your face, the sight so painful to him that it brought some into his own. He repeated his request. You didn’t budge, but Comte saw your grip on the blade tightening.
“Come on, you’re already this far, surely you’re not gonna chicken out?” your mind questioned, its voice turning sour and screechy instead of the honeyed murmurs you were used to. You hesitated. Oh but your lover’s eyes shone with tears and i them you saw desperation. For once he dropped his mask, allowed you and only you to see, truly see, just how much he needed you. You saw fear, and love and sadness so deeply rooted within him and it made your heart tear apart. You swore to yourself once that you’d be there for him, that he didn’t have to be alone anymore.
And so once again, your lover won over your ill mind. No matter how painful life would become, he would always come first. You dropped the wicked torture tool, which clanked loudly against the floor, staining it with your blood. It took you both only a few steps to meet each other at the foot of your bed. Comte didn’t hesitate to wrap you in his arms, holding you tighter than ever before, not caring that his clothes would get dirty, because how could he ever get mad at you?
As you held each other close you heard his quiet, almost completely inaudible sniffles. You pulled away from him a bit and cradled his face in your hands, wiping his tears away “Please don’t cry mon cher. I’m so sorry.”
Holding you close with one hand, he placed his other on the back of your head and peppered your face with gentle kisses and you smiled sadly at the gesture. Only when every inch of your skin received the love it deserved he pulled away “Please, please don’t leave me. After you stole my heart I promised myself I’d never let you go. I couldn’t bear to lose you, to be alone again.” You nodded your head in confirmation, guilt heavy on your chest again. “I can’t promise that everything will be alright, but you have to believe that I am here for you, whenever you may need me. Please, I am your lover, don’t ever hesitate to come to me.” “But, you shouldn’t have to-” you wanted to argue, but Comte pressed his pointer finger against your lips “You’ve helped me so much. I am a better man thanks to you. You support me, it’s only fair I support you too.” And even though your mind still didn’t quiet down, even it couldn’t find an argument against that.
After that, Comte quickly brought a first aid kit to his room and tended to your wounds. He took the rest of the day and night to show you just how much deserving of love and support you are and how much you truly mean to him.
Happy girl's tears
I don't want to want to die. I just feel so stupid and invisible and I feel like I'm just a burden.
I'm reaching out and screaming, "Someone please see me! Look my way and see my tears!"
But they don't hear me. No one hears the laughing girl's cries. No one hears the sound of her heart breaking.
No one sees the smiling girl's tears. No one sees her smile crumble behind the bathroom door.
They don't see her pain. They don't want to.
I'm trying to get better! I don't want to be so stupid and worthless all the time! I'm trying as hard as I can, so why?! Why do I feel like my feet are cemented to the ground and I'm falling into quicksand? The harder I try to get better, to be the better daughter, better friend, better everything, the worse I get?
The happy girl shatters and no one notices. Maybe when the tears are blood, they'll turn and look? When that crimson stains her fingers instead of the salty drops she wipes off her face?
But then it's too late. When the happy girl tries to die and ends it all, they say, "How did we miss this? Why didn't she ask for help?"
She did, but you closed your ears to her. You held her mask up when she was trying to rip it down and show you she was hurting. You told her it was her own fault, she just needed to try harder.
But the happy girl had already tried her hardest, and it was never enough for you.
Been trying to make sense of the emotional turmoil today, cause it hasn't been this dark and chaotic in my head in a long time..
And then I realized it's because today would have been your birthday.. and that just completely broke me.
Bury Me After I Fall
A suicidal person dangles their feet over a rooftop in the rain. They don't know if they jumped or not.
Liminal Space: occupying a position, or on both sides of, on the threshold of in between.
Purgatory: a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven.
Chapter inspired by "i used to have nothing and then" by dirgewithoutmusic
"This wasn't real. They were either falling, or fallen. They weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When they hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) they knew what it would cost."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You didn't know what was going on.
You didn't feel themselves hit the ground — but all of the sudden, you were standing in an empty banquet hall with a mile-long oakwood table in the center, golden light glinting off the surface. There wasn't any sound except for your harsh breathing — residue from the adrenaline.
"Why are you here?"
The voice echoed from all around them. You turned, but didn't see anyone.
"Who's there?" You called. You spun again. "What's going on?" You blinked, breath faltering. "I — I died. I'm supposed to be dead." You blinked rapidly. "Why am I not dead?"
"Why are you here?"
"I wanted to die," You said, simply.
"Why?"
"Why do you want to know?" You asked. "Are you God? Is this some sort of ... test?" You gazed at the hall. It seemed endless, stretching along towards the end of the horizon as strange gold light bounced off the banquet table.
"Why now?"
"Because I wanted to."
The voice considered them. "Everything comes at a cost," it said. "But you already know that, don't you?"
You backed away as you were quickly swallowed by the plummeting darkness.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You were born once, from a sixteen year old girl who committed an act she thought she was ready for. You were born in a cold hospital room, six pounds and eight ounces of screaming, quickly swaddled. Your mother wasn't ready, but she loved you even as she gave you up to the two husbands' in the room. The two men cried as they cradled their new child. They weren't blood, but they loved you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You hit the ground, knees slamming on the cement. "Fuck."
Harsh sunlight beat down you as you took note of your surroundings. You were on a playground, with plastic slides and metal monkey bars and creaky swings. A huge tree stretched to the sky a little ways away.
You slowly rose to their feet, joints creaking. "What am I doing here again?" You asked.
Again. You knew this place. You’ve been here before. You grew up here.
You walked past the playground and made your way to the tree, touching the bark. The summer sun dripped through the shaded branches.
"A cost," the voice hissed. "A life."
You startled as a dull thud came from the other side of the tree. A boy, not older than eleven, gripped strands of hair from a kid as he slammed their head into the tree. A sneer twisted his face as the kid trembled beneath him.
"A cost," you watched in horrified fascination as the voice pulled at the boy's mouth. "A life."
You stepped back out of range of the boy, feeling sick. "What are you doing?" You asked. "Stop it."
The boy took a step forward and you flinched back, instinctively. He stopped and stared at you with an unreadable gaze. "You're still running away?" He said. "Even when you're older and stronger than me?"
"Shut up." You snapped. "What is this? A test? A riddle?" You glanced down at your own frozen face, your younger self unaware of the conversation as your eyes burned holes into the ground.
The bully perked up. "You were always better at tests, weren't you?" He said. "That's why I was always so mad at you."
"Oh yeah?" You asked sarcastically, hurt and rageful as you stared at the bully that took up so many years and thoughts and days. The bully stared back at you, the pimples dotting his forehead shiny and raised. He seemed so small for someone who had such a huge impact on your life.
"I'm sorry."
"No you're not."
"I am. I cried when I found out."
"Found out?" You repeated. Your heart pounded. How could your heart pound? You were dead. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. You were either falling, or fallen.
This wasn't real.
The bully stared at you, and you stared back. Taking a step back, a tendril of darkness snaked around your ankle and yanked you down.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You were raised once, from two loving fathers who would take you in their arms and smother you with scratchy kisses. From lazy Sundays with buttery sunlight creeping through the window's blinds. With pancakes and orange juice while watching bad cartoons dance on the TV. From crushing hugs and you being tossed in the air as gravity took over and you landed in their arms.
Your dads always caught you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You slammed back into you body as you gasped, kneeling on all fours. Trembling, you scanned the room, the itchy red carpet underneath you biting into your palms and knees.
You looked down. A flimsy drawing looked back, waxy colors scrawled all over the paper as crayons littered the floor. You knew this drawing. You knew this room, this carpet, this house.
You knew what would happen.
Arms wrapped around your torso, and you resisted the urge to scream as an overwhelming perfume made you choke from behind. "A cost," your neighbor hissed. "A life."
You wrenched yourself out of the neighbor's arms, stomach turning. Your dads' were on date night, and decided to drop you off at their neighbor's place. The husbands' didn't notice how the neighbor's smile turned sharp and her eyes landed on you. Goosebumps had exploded throughout your skin.
"You know what it feels like to be taken apart," said the voice. "You know what it feels like to become unmade."
Your neighbor's eyes blazed with sinful intentions as she took a step forward, a saccharine smile on her lips as she —
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sky opened up as they dangled their feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked their clothes.
You hit the ground, and you were watching little kids running around, shrieking with joy as they ran over the place you were beat up yesterday —
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You hit the ground, and were immediately slammed into a brick wall by your classmates —
You hit — your grades were dropping, and anxiety tightened your heart as the teacher held you back after class —
Again — your dads' were disappointed, one angry, one worried, as they took away your belongings after dinner —
You hit the ground — it was a cycle, wasn't it? Kids laughed at you when you did good in school, beat you up, you dropped your grades, your dads' got disappointed, and then the sweet neighbor offered to give you tutoring lessons while your dads' had date night and —
"Why are you showing me this?!" You screamed as bloody spittle flew from your mouth after all the times you hit the ground. "My life was shitty, I know! I don't need to see it again, I know! Stop showing me this!"
The voice paused, considered. Then darkness grabbed hold of your ankles and dragged you down.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You were born once, from the first time when you visited the relatives of your dads. Grandma kissed, cousins waved, and aunts and uncles hugged.
Your dads laughed as you squirmed away and dashed off to play with the other children.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Everything comes at a cost. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."
"Why are you here?"
"Why now?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You hit the ground, this time in soft green grass. It was early dawn, the sky opening a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.
You turned to look at the house, and in the shadows of the porch, you could see your dads' lean in for a long kiss as they basked in the quiet.
You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing.
This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) you wouldn't land in a warm afterlife. These worlds God kept throwing you into were just painful memories that only solidified your reason for death.
Footsteps rustled through the grass behind you but you didn't move — just breathed in the sweet smell of wind and closed your eyes.
"Hey, kiddo," your dad said, sitting down beside you. Your other dad sat opposite of you.
Your throat suddenly clenched, burned. Your eyes stung. "Hey, dads'," You croaked. "I — hey."
"So ... what happened?" He asked after a beat of silence. You suddenly remembered his laughs, the way it would sneak past your bedroom door as you laid with closed eyes and bruised ribs, wondering if it would get better, wondering if you were ever going to be as happy as your parents.
"I couldn't do it anymore, dad," you choked. "I — I'm sorry. At school I could barely hide the bruises from you, and the neighbor — she just wouldn't stop, and I couldn't tell you because you were so happy. And I messed up your lives from coming home drunk and taking pills and doing cigarettes and —" I couldn't do it anymore.
Your other dad looked at you sadly, an old look that you knew well. It was one of sorrow, of exhaustion and pain that weighed him deep in his bones as he looked at you when you came stumbling home after a night of shame.
"Why didn't you tell us?" He asked. "We could have talked about it ... given you therapy, meds. We could have talked to the teachers, and the parents of the kids, and had that neighbor arrested. We — we blame ourselves."
Your eyes blurred and you blinked rapidly as your dad's face swam into view. His broken look, his tearstained lashes, his red eyes. Grief was written on both your fathers' faces as he placed a hand on your shoulder.
Suddenly, your father's face shifted. "Everything comes at a cost," he said. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
His palm suddenly felt heavy on your shoulder as you whipped around to look at your other dad.
"A life," your other dad rasped.
"No," you jerked back away from your dads', suddenly angry. "No. You don't get to use them. You don't ever get to use them. Don't ever touch them."
Your fathers' faces twisted into confusion, frustration. "I — I am trying. To ask. Why are you here?"
"I just told you — told them. I couldn't do it anymore."
"Why now?"
You didn't have an answer.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. They are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. They know what it feels like to be taken apart. They know what it feels like to become unmade.
You hit the ground, and the stinging alcohol sliding down your throat as buzzing lights danced under your closed eyelids. You wanted to forget, you wanted to be ok, you wanted — your locked eyes with a stranger across the room. You smiled.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You hit the ground, and you took the first drag of smoke, ash staining your mouth as you used one stick, then another, then another, until the whole pack was finished in a day. You wanted to die.
You hit — you swallowed pill after pill like it was candy behind your locked door, and when the capsule was empty you curled under the covers and waited as a sickening weight built up in your chest —
You hit the ground, and you slammed against the banquet table, gasping as vertigo made your head spin. Your limbs felt cold as the lead in your chest built up —
"You have done terrible things to yourself. You can never repent."
"They did this to me, they did it first," you gasped. You were drowning as your lungs filled with water. Images in their brain filled up — good times and bad.
Early in the morning, you sat with your dads as you watched the sunrise. Later that day, you were slammed into the playground tree for being better than their peers. Later in life, you popped your first pill, lit your first smoke, drank your first shot.
Your grandma gave you kisses on cheeks, your cousins still waved, aunts and uncles still hugged you. Your neighbor slid her hands along your body just like that stranger did. Sunday mornings with orange juice and pancakes and cartoons were replaced with hangovers as you stared at the top of a building and pretended to see the curve of the horizon.
"They hurt me first."
"They don't cancel each other out. Souls are never scrubbed clean, but can be overgrown."
"What are you trying to say?" You spat. "That I should've lived? That I should've dealt with it? It's too late, it was too late, it has been too late! I wanted to die, so I killed myself. I don't regret it, I'm just sorry for my parents." You clenched your fists. All you could feel is the cold in the warmly-lit room.
"You want time," said the voice. "You want to see your parents again."
"Of course I want to see my parents again." You said. "I love them. But —"
Instead of falling, images rose above you like smoke.
Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other. Your dads' woke you up at the crack of dawn to watch the sun rising for the first time, and it was one of the most favorite memories they had. Your dads' tossed you up, and you soared, before gravity quickly took over and your dads' caught you in their arms. Your dads' introduced you to grandma, to cousins and aunts and uncles. Sunday light crept through the windows and you toasted your orange juice to your dads' coffee.
"You will never get them back," said the voice. "But isn't that what you want? I will show you time."
Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other in the early dawn.
Your dads' fell to your knees in grief and shock and horror, sobbing as men painted in red and blue lights wordlessly spoke of a suicide. Early sunrises were replaced with broken twilights as your dads found the pills, the bottles and the words on pages.
A man opened the news one day and recognized a classmate who killed themself. Horrified guilt made him weep tears of shame as he remembered how he slammed them into a tree for being better than him.
A neighborhood woman opened her door and was met with charges piled higher than her taxes as the police handcuffed her and dragged her to jail after years of freedom.
Your dads' walked up to a woman, a broken look in their eyes as they exchanged words and handed her a picture. The woman covered her mouth, stared at it blankly. You can only assume that this is the birth mother who was never a part of your life. Funny, you didn't even look like her. You must get you looks from your birth father.
Decades later, you watched as your dads' forgave themselves a little as they placed a white rose next to a wilted black one.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when they jump.
"Everything comes at a cost." Said the voice, but this time it sounded kind. "You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"What does this matter?" You said dully. "This isn't real. I'm already dead. I'm falling, or fallen. I'm not in heaven, or hell. I'm in something in-between."
"Do you want to die?"
"Yes," You said. "But if I lived a different life, then no."
The voice paused, considered.
"I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me. I didn't want to get bullied, or touched, or hurt, or drugged, or anything. But what the hell does that matter? I'm already falling, or fallen. I'm already dead, or dying. I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me, but they did."
"It matters," whispers the voice. "That's what makes this a sacrifice."
"I'm angry," you whispered. "No one should go through what I did. No one should feel what I felt. My parents —" you trembled.
"Be angry," said the voice. "I am."
That gives you more comfort than you thought it would. Your eyes stung with fury and hurt and sadness as your throat grew tight and your hands started shaking. "I didn't want to die," your voice broke. "I don't want to die. I just —" you sobbed, an ugly sound. "I just wanted it to stop."
The voice pauses, considering.
You don't fall, and the images don't rise, but suddenly your whole world went dark and you woke up in soft green grass as the early dawn opened the sky a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.
You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing, tears drying.
This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had you hit the ground?) you knew what it would cost.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The sky opened up as you dangled your feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked your clothes. The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. You are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade. The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when you jump. You gazed along the length of the building you had chosen, heart heavy as you hope that your dads' love you enough to forgive you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Note to self: Do not punch your stomach over and over again as hard as you can.. you'll get a bruise and a swollen stomach... which will make you feel even worse 😅☠😬
Thankful for my mom
I am thankful to have a mom that is understanding and listens to how I feel about life, the good and bad that are running through my mind. She is a social worker, so she deals with individuals who are suffering from mental illness. We had a conversation about death and suicide. She asked if I had a plan...I said “no, but death seems a lot more peaceful than living another day.” She said to let her know when I do have a plan or feel overwhelmed. Sometimes I don’t want to talk cause I don’t want to overwhelm her, but she says she doesn’t mind and isn’t stressed out from listening to me. She’s another reason on my list why I’m still here. The first 2 are God (I still have some hope in my soul), and my grandpa (he took his last breath, but that doesn’t mean I should draw mine as a means of escape).
I have been saying I'm going to kill myself and making jokes out and how would I do so of it more often tbh even though I actually do want to kill myself....
Hurt Prompts
Prompts For A Character Who Has Given Up/ Is In Their Darkest Hour
Potentially Triggering- brief talk of suicide, mild swearing, general hopelessness, implied past trauma, talks of death, PTSD, etc
1- "They call it the darkest hour, but I'm pretty sure it's been years at this point."
2- "Time heals all wounds? Bullshit. It's been years, and look at us- still just as traumatized as a decade ago."
3-"I hate you so, so fucking much."
"Me too."
5-"It'd be better if you were gone."
"I would love that."
6- "I hate- I hate existing."
7- "If I were gone, no one would miss me."
8- "Hurt me. Hurt me all you want. I guarantee you, the only people who would care would only be the ones mocking me."
9- "You think I don't hear how you go behind my back? You think you're my friend? Well, newsflash. I don't have friends."
10- "It hurts. It hurts so, so much. Getting out of bed, everyday, only for them to tell you you aren't enough. Taunt you about how ugly you are. Ridicule your every move. Eventually, you give up. Eventually, you move out of your bed, but your head sinks deeper into the covers."
11- "Describe how I feel in one word? Suicidal."
12- "Feel like stopping. I feel like stopping. Everything."
14- "You… you're leaving? But you're my- my last friend."
15- "The day he/she/they died, was the day I did, too."
(please tag me if you use, I'd love to see what u come up with, other rules pinned)
The Red Flags of Ruby's Suicidality Throughout The Volume
It should be obvious, but this short essay will cover heavy subjects of suicide, so if you're uncomfortable with this subject matter please don't read this.
The first red flag was in episode 4, where Ruby contemplated erasing her current self due to her failures, after talking to her 'past self'.
This gets reinforced by the lyrics of Trapdoor, which is about how worthless and unneeded Ruby feels.
One common mindset among suicidal people is this: what if I'm useless? What if my friends don't need me anymore? What if they don't care about me? What if I'll keep ruining everything? Would the world be better without me?
Suicidal people are usually full of self-loathing and blame.
Even in the episode 7 fight Ruby felt useless after seeing C-PTSD red flags (they're not Neo hallucinations because she didn't see the Schnee manor grounds struggle with hacked Penny). In her eyes, the others are fighting well without her, so she's useless.
Another set of red flags is snapping at your loved ones, pushing them away and driving yourself into isolation. We see ALL these in episodes 7 and 8, with Ruby snapping at her friends and running away, and even pushing Little away.
And on top of it she feels like her friends don't care, the world is against her, etc. which is YET another red flag.
(Massive disclaimer that this is NOT anti WBY and they, especially Yang, tried to reach out to her throughout the volume.)
I'd like to mention that if your loved one attempts and you tried to help but couldn't do it, it is NOT your fault. We're not all experts and we try our best, so do not ever blame yourself for these things.
It's not uncommon for suicidal people to refuse help, and on top of it Ruby has always been selfless to self destructive levels.
And the last thing, her self blame over her loved ones dying. While Penny and Pyrrha were apparitions, they still reflected her self blame. And Little dying? The final straw.
So her suicide attempt in the end was being built up all volume.
All I can say is that I hope Ruby somehow gets rescued and also recovers from her mental health problems because JESUS CHRIST.
This was a bit hard for me to write, especially as someone with BPD and frequent suicidal tendencies. This topic hits hard for me. However, I'm not an expert and this post shouldn't be taken as gospel. There may be details even I missed, so feel free to add your own observations.
And remember that if you are suicidal as well, you're not alone. You'll always have people who care about you, and resources to help out.
I hate this one, too
C Em Am F
I started to write another song about you but I hated it
We rationalize all the shit that we do We're still frustrated
Do you remember Our first hello's You wanting me Now you throw me up
They tell you to "surrender" "Cmon, let it go" "Just let it be" I just gave up
Rain, wash away my tears I've been good all of these years
Do what's right over easy for as long as I can remember
Just wanted to feel better But I'm in a worse state that ever Please just take me back, Creator
I started to write another song about us so I can finally forget
I didn't know why But I did what I must Cos I'm tired of being treated
Like a robot, can you hear the riot in my head Wishin I were dead
Rain, wash away my tears I've been good except only this year
Do what's right over easy for as long as I can remember
Where's my crown of honor?
But I'm in a worse state that ever
Please just take me back, Creator
„Everything will be fine“
Its a fucking lie, okay?
I hope that someday, somebody wants to hold you for twenty minutes straight, and that’s all they do. They don’t pull away. They don’t look at your face. They don’t try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms, without an ounce of selfishness in it.
- honey 🍯
I shouldn’t have kissed you because now the only thing I can think about is how your hands felt on my skin and the words you said that broke my heart.. 😭
You haven't even been gone 12 hours and I miss you
-someone pls shoot me in my fucking head, please please
hey does anyone have some good reasons to keep going, like seriously
im genuinely so sad and I keep punching myself so I just want some people to tell me reasons to keep going