wanting to die, anne sexton

Wanting to Die - Anne Sexton

Pictures I took sitting on the balcony as I read this poem.

"Do you wish you were dead?" We slammed doors in my family. We beat each other up and we asked questions we didn't want answers to and we wielded silence like a dagger. I wasn't sure how to respond to her blunt honesty except with honesty of my own. "I don't want to die, but I don't want to live, either. I don't know why anyone would.[...]"

we are the ants by Shaun David Hutchinson

there’s just something about his side profile

i just realised i forgot all my music theory stuff and i have class in like 40 mins,,, my teacher already hate me enough as it is this is so unfair

Thinking about making a suicide note or song..or something suicide related so people won't be surprised when I like

Die

It’s too much work to stay alive.

Honestly, what am I even doing?

Is there any point in me being here, feeling awful, feeling nothing at all.

Would it not be better for everyone if I simply died. Then they would not have to put up with my mistake of an existence. Then they could live their lives without my interference.

Is it not better to remove yourself from everything if it makes everyone else’s lives better?

You know what? I am so fucking insecure that Captain Kirk, Fred Rogers, and Christ Himself could magically appear before me, hold my hands, earnestly tell me something like "You have value" or "You are worthy of being alive" or "You deserve to be loved" and (through endless sobbing and wailing, of course) I would fucking argue with them about it until they all killed themselves out of frustration.

Trauma

I was about 5-6 when the abuse started. My stepdad would beat the living hell out of me, but never touched his own kids. When I was around 8 years old, he burned my ass with a curling iron.

Most kids wet the bed, I was so scared, I used to poop the bed, no joke! I would have to hurry and clean it up before anyone noticed, because I didn't want to get punished.

I was dragged down stairs by my hair, and even hung on a nail on the wall, by my hair. I can remember my mom coming home from work and asking where I was. She mad him take me down. The abuse continued for years before she finally decided to leave him. Why did he do this to me, I always asked? Why does everyone hate ME?

I can remember praying for death, every day!!

I can't believe it's happening again life keeps repeating I have to see another person I love sit and do drugs I feel just as I did as a kid this is unbearable I can't stand this I'm stressed and depressed

When I’m sad I don’t feel like creating. It feels like life has been slowly leaking from my body and I’m running low on creative energy. I barley have energy to live. I do the bare minimum to scrap by.

When I feel numb inside, the words I put to paper feel numb. They feel as though they have no meaning. And when I can’t create, my life feels meaningless. It’s a vicious cycle.

I only say these things here because it’s the only place I can open up and be free of judgement. When it comes to people in my life, you just have to put on a brave face and say “I’m doing good”. Because honestly, we all have so much going on in our personal lives, that no one really cares. At least, it’s how it feels to me.

X

At the end of the street there was a disused well. I went over to it. As I stared down into its dark, silent depths, I had a sudden urge to hurl myself head-first down the shaft. The silence seemed to awaken all the despair within me. It was a silence of eternity. Next to the well was a large stone that was so heavy I could hardly lift it. I picked it up, heaved it over the edge and dropped it down the shaft. I listened as it crashed to the dry bottom of the well. Then there was silence. I stared down into the gloom and smelt the vile smell coming up from the bottom, like a festering pit. I moved away from the mouth of the well. I could still hear the crash of the falling stone ringing in my ears. I imagined myself falling in the same way. But unlike the stone, I knew that I would have slowly bled to death at the bottom of the well. A horrible way to die. I set off on my way again. There was something about the sound of that falling stone – a siren call that was still strangely attractive to me.

Mohamed Choukri, from Streetwise, 1989

Number 30 for whumptober! One more to go! This one I used "Please don't touch me".

my mom loves to lie and like she always swears she was NEVER homophobic or anything to me as a child “i even have a gay work friend” but a really funny memory resurfaced recently where i asked if i could use birthday money i had to buy a rainbow flag when i was like ??? 7?? because i LOVED rainbows. and she said no that means something Evil and god will hate you . so what did i do. but ask my grandmom for a rainbow sweater for christmas and proceed to only wear that sweater for three years when it got cold because i didnt like the idea that god hated colors and i wanted to challenge him

People don't like to admit it bcs cringe or w/e but Homestuck really did revolutionize the webcomic as a storytelling medium and I am endlessly frustrated that before webcomic artists could really stretch our legs fucking webtoonz swooped in, set a new, more restrictive standard, and then monetized and monopolized the ever living fuck out of the concept of The Webcomic until it drove away anyone who couldn't be a professional quality manga artist for free, and now the only webcomics that actually feel like spiritual successors to Homestuck are so obscure they're basically cult classics that you have to beg people to read.

Like it's just so wild to be in high school and see Homestuck be like "we're using like fifteen different artistic mediums to tell this story bcs we can" and be really fucking inspired by that, only to grow up and see basically every webcomic ever have to conform to One Single Standard or fucking perish.