suicide

We can stick anything into the fogand make it look like a ghostbut tonightlet us not become tragedies.We are not funeral homeswith propane tanks in our windows,lookin_ like cemeteries.Cemeteries are just the Earth__ way of not letting go.Let go.Tonightlet__ turn our silly wrists so far backwardsthe razor blades in our pencil tipscan__ get a good angle on all that beauty inside.Step into thiswith your airplane parts.Move forwardand repeat after me with your heart:__ no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.__ake love to melike you know I am betterthan the worst thing I ever did.Go slow.I__ new to this.But I have seen nearly every city from a rooftopwithout jumping.I have realizedthat the moondid not have to be full for us to love it,that we are not tragediesstranded here beneath it,that if my heartreally brokeevery time I fell from loveI__ be able to offer you confetti by now.But hearts don__ break,y__ll,they bruise and get better.We were never tragedies.We were emergencies.You call 9 _ 1 _ 1.Tell them I__ having a fantastic time.

And then again, maybe it was some weird noise in my brother__ head, some little digital murmur he never told anyone about. I__e heard about that _ how you wake up one day and there__ like this permanent dial tone droning somewhere behind the meat in your head, a little Dustbuster trapped where the brain saves you from going crazy. After a while you wind up ending it all just to make things quiet again.

Is one to die voluntarily or to hope in spite of everything?

Bear no malice for the ones who leave you.

Get real. They__l try to kill us no matter what. I can find out how to open the files from Mickey. You may be impressed with this genius shit but you should really find out what a mess his head is. The right drugs, he__l cut his own throat and forget why he__ bleeding." That was an interesting choice of metaphor.

Pull yourself out of the dirt, dust yourself off, and get back on the horse and ride towards the sunset.

Like my loved one, I am convinced that we all have critical conditions. Battles that we undertake behind the hospitals, in lonely alleys, secret locations and sometimes public places that are out of reach to those who seem to care.

I looked out across the Ocean, and determined to drown myself.I was up to my chin when the shout came, and I will never forget it. Never. For it seems to me that any hope in life is such a shout; a voice that answers the silent place of despair. It is silence that most needs an answering _ when I can no longer speak, hear me.

However, the struggle with that sentinel is, as a rule, not so hard as it may seem from a long way off, mainly in consequence of the antagonism between the ills of the body and the ills of the mind. If we are in great bodily pain, or the pain lasts a long time, we become indifferent to other troubles; all we think about is to get well. In the same way great mental suffering makes us insensible to bodily pain; we despise it; nay, if it should outweigh the other, it distracts our thoughts, and we welcome it as a pause in mental suffering. It is this feeling that makes suicide easy; for the bodily pain that accompanies it loses all significance in the eyes of one who is tortured by an excess of mental suffering. This is especially evident in the case of those who are driven to suicide by some purely morbid and exaggerated ill-humor. No special effort to overcome their feelings is necessary, nor do such people require to be worked up in order to take the step; but as soon as the keeper into whose charge they are given leaves them for a couple of minutes, they quickly bring their life to an end.When, in some dreadful and ghastly dream, we reach the moment of greatest horror, it awakes us; thereby banishing all the hideous shapes that were born of the night. And life is a dream: when the moment of greatest horror compels us to break it off, the same thing happens.

To commit the act of felo-de-se is a form of delusion. You see, my love, to leave one's life unfinished implies the possibility of success. What is left unlived may contain the potential truth one always seeks. Those who kill themselves do so with the conviction that they would have reached that truth eventually had they lived to the proper end. They die in the illusion of hope which in a way keeps the rest of us alive. Reason, therefore, for not committing suicide.

We human beings glimpse lofty ideals, catch ourselves betraying them, and sink to suicidal despair--despair from which only the love of our friends can save us, since friends see in us those nobler qualities we ourselves, out of long familiarity, have forgotten we possess. That, of course, is why the suicidal person is difficult around his friends.

Life can be messy.No doubt, a lot of these kids are living proof.But in spite of their anxieties and their angers,At least- They Are trying to live.

I could always accept not being the prettiest or the smartestBecause I had the best of friends.A and A they called us.But, Anna, somehow, I failed you. And now I've lost the best part ofMe.

Sometimes you get so tired of each day, you wish it was over. But it just goes on and on, like the silent prayers that forever go unanswered." - excerpt from: freefalling

Jamie reflected that if he purposely went down to the crags of the Pacific and threw himself to the sharks, when he came before God and his father and mother, he could carry no smiling secret on his face. He would not have kept the faith. He would have broken the laws of God and man. He would have allowed frail woman to surpass him in courage, in endurance. He shut his eyes to close out even the imagined look on his mother's face. So right there Jamie crossed off the Pacific from his scheme of release.

There is a very popular opinion that choosing life is inherently superior to choosing death. This belief that life isinherently preferable to death is one of the most widespread superstitions. This bias constitutes one of the most obstinate mythologies of the human species.

I don't know why, but there's always the part of you, the part that hides in the shadows protecting the self-destruct button, that doesn't ever want to leave the dark behind.

You don't know what cold is until you've experienced the cold you feel when the blood is draining out of your body.