Tw Suic1de - Blog Posts

A constellation of scars (with a soldiers story to tell)

A constellation of scars, they tell the story Of a young soldier, beaten and battle weary The taunts, the jeers of those who seek validation The whispers, the rumours of those who see a threat

A collection of memories, they tell the story Of a bright young child, ready to find glory Studying hard for years to come To see their families proud faces When they hit number one

A tale of joy, fleeting yet forever Their mother, their sister, their brother, their father The times spent together with friends Now only a fantasy

The reality of life, an empty black hole The void in their chest where a heart once called home That absence of feeling that clings to their skin The guilt running through their veins that they cloak themselves in

The temptation of pain, just an itch at first Grows to be unbearable in the times it is worst The scabs on their skin that refuse to heal As they are peeled back again and again For that brief chance to feel

The tunnel of darkness continued to grow Would it ever end? They really didn’t know A call from the shadows in the form of a blade Said it brought peace and a moment of escape

The darkness swarmed in on them, promised to keep them safe In the midst of their pain, they didn’t realise it was a cage As the cuts grew in number on their arms, legs, chest and heart They still felt nothing when skin and blade were apart

As the darkness continued to swallow them whole Their loved ones were worried “Where did they go?” And so the acting began, strings of denies “I’m just tired.” They would say, weaving a web full of lies

The fragile strands tightened and coiled Constricting even them into being embroiled. “Maybe I really am just tired, or overreacting,” “Maybe it’s just for attention, to try and feel what I’m lacking.”

The coils wound tight, choking them slowly And though they didn’t realise it, they were succumbing And so the thoughts of death started creeping onto their head “I feel nothing even when cutting, I’m better off dead.”

An attempt was carried out, though they can barely remember a thing Except waking up in hospital, alive and breathing Their mother had found them, draped over the bathroom sink Wrists slit, bleeding out An ambulance was called There was still no feeling

A year had passed and there was still no sign of the end The web of lies had been broken, but the void in their chest remained Even while being smothered with affection There was still no feeling

The world kept rushing past, they stopped trying to keep up months ago But one day it seemed to halt For just a second There was feeling once more

They had been out with their friends Who hadn’t given up just yet On making them feel again Yet another attempt that was set to fail But it didn’t

It was a simple thing really A joke, a smile and then a tidal wave of laughter Seeing the joy that they thought was lost It caused something to stir

An echo of happiness, plucked from a heartstring It resonated through their body And the void seemed to shrink ever so slightly There was life in them yet

Five years passed and they were still no better That echo being the only thing keeping them tethered to this life Why am I not better yet? I should be happy, I should be healed

They began to notice the world The whispers, the rumours Began to notice How the scars littered their skin

Their body, an art piece For those who merely skimmed the surface, it was dangerous and all consuming So they avoided it Criticising the artist to deny their looming feelings of dread To ignore how deep the scars ran

But to those who saw through the critics’ remarks Those who looked deeper Who broke down the walls Who braved the aggression, the masks and the cruelty And saw what lay behind it all A damaged soul, trying to fix themselves with cut hands

The soul of a broken child who grew up too fast A child with a fragile glass heart Shattered to pieces by the harshness of life The expectations, the judgement, the reality It was shattered to protect the holder from the worst But they were still left with their constellation of scars

Those who saw the true meanings were sometimes driven to madness The weight of it too much for their aching shoulders Too weak to carry yet another burden But there were those who could. Those who saw and still stayed Those who showed them, the echo of a life Pulsing through them still

That constellation of scars, that collection of memories, they tell the story Of a brave young warrior, battling enemies even some of the most experienced had never encountered. How exhausted they were, how sick of fighting Who gave up trying to fight back those monsters Who had lost all faith

But who had life in them A pulse that refused to let go Clinging to them even as the darkness led them, Deeper and deeper into despair Echoing constantly, begging for them to hear A pulse that people helped them find

That brought them from their knees That told the young soldier, “Don’t loose hope yet, I’m still beating.” The young soldier hadn’t given up yet They would be victorious

Their constellation of scars, told of memories Good and bad, joyous and despairing The memories of their life past And would tell of the life to come

As the new scars were added, the jeers stayed the same, Unwavering in their goal to hurt

But still, they lived Though their scars never fully healed, their pain never fully erased The void never fully gone

There were good days Where their scars seemed non existent And there were bad days Which broke them all over again

But what was important Was that even if the light disappeared from the tunnel, Even if the dark seemed inescapable, They would always have the pulse in their chest Cheering them on, keeping them going Awaiting the victory only they can achieve. Steadily beating.

This was such a fucking jumpscare in THE MIDDLE OF TECH CLASS

love u yuna but please start uploading these at 1 am when nobody is around

My urge is to scratch myself, they should do the same

Men are so funny like WDYM you can't control your sexual urges when you see a 13 year old's bra through her shirt?? Heres an idea why don't you go KILL YOURSELF haha<33

He tried to OD, I'll be keeping an eye on him from here on. He's really high, but he's okay.

my mom for some reason thinks i need to be on some sort of suicide watch rn and it's the most annoying thing ever

For fun I did a tiny comic which will make you guys feel like I shoot you guys 57 times

TW!! ITS ABOUT SUICIDE AND SH TW!!!!

I don't wanna trigger anyone soooo... If you wanna check it, look under the cut

I love good old dose of angst

People are not defined by their addictions.

Someone who is an alcoholic isn’t just an alcoholic. Someone who’s hooked on opioids isn’t necessarily a bad person. Someone who can’t help but shoot up on heroin isn’t necessarily crazy. SOMEONE WHO IS ADDICTED TO DRUGS ISN’T A BAD PERSON JUST BECAUSE THEY DO DRUGS. And even if they are a bad person? They should still be entitled to get help. If the cops arrest someone for possession of drugs, that person shouldn’t just be charged for the crime. They should be given legitimate help to stop the addiction. And because this isn’t done, at least where I live in the US, my Papa (mom’s stepdad) is now dead. Today’s his birthday, and two days ago, he committed suicide. He was an alcoholic, who was arrested multiple times, and one of those times was for possession of drugs. I don’t know what kind. All I know is, very little was done to help him, if anything at all was done. Just because someone has an addiction does not make them a bad person. I can say this with confidence because, when I was little, my Papa was one of the funniest people in my life. He made me and my cousins giggle a lot, by telling jokes and making funny faces and tickling us silly. I don’t have many memories of him beyond that, because once he and my Nana (mom’s mom) got divorced a few years back, we only saw him twice. We tried to schedule time to spend with him, but a lot of the times, he would cancel last minute. He would stop reaching out to people as much. He had to give away his cat and move out from the house he and my Nana had lived in. He moved into an apartment. Multiple times, my aunts who lived nearby called for police welfare checks on him.

Two days ago, on March 20th, my Papa was found dead. I don’t feel comfortable sharing how he did it, but he did leave a suicide note- a note that none of my family had access to for about 24 hours or so after we found out what had happened. Chances were that he was intoxicated, due to the location he was found, though we haven’t gotten back the toxicology report yet to confirm this. The day before, one of my aunts had called the police to do a welfare check on him, as he wasn’t answering his phone. Five minutes later, the officer she’d gotten in contact with responded- a time short enough for us to believe that the officer(s) involved in the welfare check were negligent. My personal opinion, though biased, is that since he had been arrested before (not for any sort of major charges to my knowledge), the police were starting to be tired of him, and think of him almost as a nuisance. Like I said, however, this is just my opinion.

People with addictions need to be treated as what they are- people. Good or bad or anything in between, everyone deserves to get treatment for an addiction, and to have their health taken care of. Otherwise, the consequences can hurt not just the person themselves, and not just the people who love them, but our entire society as a whole.

Rest in peace, Papa, and happy birthday. I love you, and I hope you knew that. 🤍

something something politics are killing me

The stars were so pretty as he fell. It was like time slowed, and all he could do was stare. He would be one of them, according to some people. A star in the bright sky.

Despite it being only the afternoon, there were so many stars visible, their colours bleeding through the sunny blue to form myriads of colours, greens and purples and pinks. It was so beautiful, the sight almost made what he had done worth it.

He just wanted to be free. Free of the taunts, the interviews, the memories. Kim Dokja could only take so much, and this was where the curtain would close.

He hadn’t intended for this to be his course of action. He had gone to the window to get some air in the brief lapse between classes and his bullies, but his eyes had caught on that sky. That ethereal, enrapturing sky. He wanted to be part of it. He so desperately did.

Before he knew it, the window was open, and he was half out of it. His legs swung, to and fro, to and fro, all his attention still on the great above.

A gust of window brushed past him, he could feel someone staring at him from behind, but could not bring himself to look away. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel it if he did.

The sky called out to him, and he reached out for it. He reached to the point where his balance could not compensate, and he fell. He kept reaching.

He looked up at that sky, and as the wind rushed through the air, he couldn’t look away.

The brightest star of all, leaking through the canvas like a stain, came from right where he had just sat, where a person now stood, a person who looked just like him.

His attention had left the sky. The pain swiftly came, with a sickening crack as his head hit a branch, taking his consciousness, and with another to his chest, his pulse.

heyyyyy Detroit become human fandom….

wassup…

uh here

TW: very dark themes, spoilers for Detroit become human, human blood

Soo I finished the game a couple times

let me in please 😭

Whoopsie 😭😭

How the idea of randomly posting a goodbye message and offing myself starts to feel past 12 pm

⚠️ PEACHYVILLE HORROR SPOILERS ⚠️

[S3 ep. 22]

Guys, I’ve got a theory. It’s probably way too dark for this comedy podcast but it would also be pretty neat.

Francis is going to die.

Francis is going to shoot himself in the head and Brunhilde will do nothing to stop him.

The others will hear the gunshot and investigate. Trudy will already know what happened before they get outside.

There is nobody outside. There’s blood but Francis is gone. Everyone assumes the Bison took him. Or whatever was left anyways.

Things carry on and Anthony makes a new character.

Much later in the season, they find him.

His head has almost completely been blown off and yet he begins shambling towards them. He grips Brunhilde tightly in his hands. She has been controlling his body and using it to go on a killing spree.

He is now a boss monster they need to kill.

My evidence: it would be sick as hell

i don’t want to live like this. i only exist at this point. all i do is distract my mind so i don’t kill myself

HEAVY TW WARNING FOR SU1CID3, SH, RELIGIOUS TRAUMA ETC. THIS IS A VENT. YOU HAVE BEEN ADVISED.

Uh…? Where am I…? Is this… heaven?

Yes, *irl name*.

Oh, hi. We meet again

This is the third time

Did I manage to get here?

Oh, oh no.

Why…?

I think you already know the answer. You never made anyone proud. You were an annoying spoiled little brat. You managed to make your girlfriend hate you. And then, you killed yourself *irl name*

Oh…

Is it all you gonna say? You’re really just a little bitch. Why are you crying now?

I’m sorry…

Apologising can’t let you far right now.

Sorry…

You were always like this. Apologising cause you didn’t know how to be forgiven. A real idiot

…

Now come in, I’ll have to bandage your wrists. They are ruining the floor.

Thanks. Everyone, for anything. Goodbye ❤️