Warnings (Why the hell do I call it that?)

This book is about feelings of depression and suicide. If you could possibly have any latent emotions or you're a ticking time bomb for death, go find some comedy. This might make it worse. Or this might make it better. Just know, to all you depressed people out there, there's someone else who's like you. Except more psycho. And trying to make it comedic. 

Diary Entry 1

I want to kill myself. Is it really that bad? Suicide is nothing like how they say. It hurts. Just like the screaming lines of pain that are the only thing I can feel other than sadness. Depression is like a high on PCP. Or being a sad drunk. Suicide, it's like being high on depression and pain. The reason people self-mutilate when they're depressed? Easy answer. It's because pain is the only thing you, or me, can feel other than depression, sadness, eternal despair. Yeah.

Diary Entry 2

Today is the day where nothing happens and so everything comes crashing back in. Is it bad I want to kill myself over a breakup? I was already suicidal once before I met him. I know I’m being stupidly emotional over a guy I barely knew, yet because I barely knew him, it hurts all the more. I wanted to know more about him. I had wanted to know more about him. I wanted to stay with him forever and give everything of myself to him. I broke myself by cheating on all of them. I cheated on only both of them really. Everything is broken and I’m just another broken piece that doesn’t work.

 

Diary Entry 3

I’m breaking breaking breaking breaking.

Something’s not right.

I’m breaking breaking breaking.

Everything’s shattering inside.

How’d you do it?

I’m breaking myself, shattering, breaking, shattering.

I broke myself.

What do I feel?

What is happening?

My heart is ice and it has shattered and pierced my soul.

My soul is a mirror and it has broken so I can no longer see what I feel.

My body is a tool that I have used

to shatter ice stronger than steel and break glass harder than diamond.

I’m breaking breaking breaking breaking, and I have shattered myself.

 

Oooh, look, a poem I wrote about myself. Too bad I'm too depressed to feel happy that I wrote it. Honestly, how did I write it? DO I HAVE AN ALTER EGO???? Naw, it's just little old depressed me in my mind. I wonder if I can hang myself.

Diary Entry 4

There are times when I want to die so badly I think the need itself will kill me. Of course, it never does. I always dream of better places, how anime life and 2D things are so much better than real life, where I could actually become something and mean something and be something other than stupid me. I have made so many stupid decisions. I can’t keep my big mouth shut. I can’t keep a secret about myself, because I am so stupid and naïve and stupid and dishonest. I’m useless and an idiot and a dumbass and I can’t do anything right, I can’t make the right decisions, I can’t even kill myself. It’s impossible. But I still want to die.

Diary Entry 5

 Whenever I laugh or feel happy, the moment lasts about 2 seconds. I actually don’t feel it. I watch things, random stuff, do things, to try and get better. It’s supposed to help. It doesn’t. There was a time when I thought I was getting better. Then that happened. And everything, of course, got worse. And worse. And I am deeper than I was before. You’re right, Mr. Health Teacher, depression is a pit you dig yourself into and if you don’t stop digging, you’ll be too deep for somebody to help you out. Well my pit is in the middle of nowhere where nobody will ever find me and I know that so I’m just going to keep digging because I have nothing else to do. There was a time when I stopped, and waited, and waited, and waited for somebody to help me. The first person who stopped to actually look, just dumped me back into the pit again because I became too much of a burden. Sorry, Ms. Counselor, your sessions are not actually helping. They would, if I hadn’t become so detached already. I am detached from reality. I’m not taking meds, because if I stop, who knows. I might have just sealed up the hole and walked away, but forgot where it was and fell back in. Sleep is overrated. I’d take meds, but really, it’s not insomnia. It’s the fact I don’t want to sleep because if I sleep, the memories come back in dreams. Then I wake up and find that the memories in dreams were better than the memories in real life. Life is cruel and bitchy and fate is a motherfucking son of a bitch. Actually, the guy who dumped me was a jerk, a dumbass, and a shithead. Though I liked that ass. And that dick.

Diary Entry 6

F*** you, you stupid motherf*cking son of a b*tch! Yes I put asterisks. Why? I do not know. Go ask someone else. I’m hella bored and depressed as shit. Yeah, I’m self-diagnosed, but who the hell cares? I’ve taken pretty much every self-assessment quiz thingie for depression I can find and answered as truthfully as I could and all of them say severe depression. Wow. I’m super depressed. Hmm, I’ll take a few more. Severe depression, severe depression, severe depression, severe depression, medical help recommended, call suicide help, 85% out of 100, 24 out of 27. Well, there you have it. Self-diagnosed, do not want to go to medical help because really, I just don’t feel like it. I don’t feel like anything.

Diary Entry 7

I just want to lay down and diiiiiieeeeeeeeee already. Seriously. Yeah I’m trying to make it funny. Do tell me if I’m doing okay. Writing used to be fun. Until everything I wrote started to become a vent for feelings. I’m so tired. I just want to go to sleep. But if I go to sleep, all those memories and feelings will come back. That’s why eternal sleep is better. You don’t feel a thing. You don’t dream. You don’t live. There’s no heart in your chest to be broken, no soul to be shattered, no life to be taken. Death, why won’t you pay me a visit? I have some fresh heart for you that’s in a very bad condition and a new soul to take to the fields of doom. If you don’t mind guiding my life to the time-travel place, I now know all the decisions I can make it better. But I don’t wanna go back to life. Life is too bitchy and mean and shitty to go back to. So scratch that. I’d rather live in Hell than go back to Earth or see my family in Heaven and have to deal with them asking why I did myself in. Better yet, no afterlife. Just sleep. Eternal sleep, no dreams, no nightmares, no nothing. Speaking of, I’m getting very sleepy.

Diary Entry 8

I'm absolutely useless. What's my point? Nothing. All I'm there for is for my mother to have something to yell at because I can't do anything right. I wonder if she’d have a better time in life without me. Always saying I ruined her plans for her future. She never wanted a child. She says I don't listen enough. But if I listen more, I hear stuff I don't want to. How about that, huh?

Diary Entry 9

 “I want to get piercings and tattoos.” I don’t know if I’ll live long enough to get them. “I want to grow flowers and breed them.” I don’t know if I will stay sane long enough to do that.“I want to marry and have kids.” If anyone will accept me the way I am. A broken heart, a dirty body, a torn soul, a girl in extremely horrible condition. Those are my assets, and they aren’t sellable. I’m a broken doll. I’m half alive. I’m not a queen, not a princess, not an angel. I walk one foot in Hell and one foot on Earth. I’m too delicate now, balancing between life and death. A butterfly that has too many things weighing down on it and couldn’t can’t fly. I can’t stay like this. I want to move on, but I’m too deep in the pit of despair and I’ve ruined my hands. I can’t climb out. Somebody please toss me a rope.

Diary Entry 10

 Today I laughed. I didn’t feel better. I laughed and couldn’t stop laughing because of the irony of me laughing and the fact that laughing felt so good because it made me breathe. I’m still breathing. Breathe, in out, in through the nose out through the mouth. I’m drowning in depression. That rope you tossed me is frayed, and all that happened was I fell back in. Climb in and bring me out please. Help. Help. HELP. I want to breathe. I want to be with you, even if it hurts me. Because that pain makes me know I’m alive. Help. Help me. I’m breaking too slowly. It hurts. I want to die, it hurts so much. I want to die, because of how much this sadness weighs down on me. Carry my burden please. Ease my pain. Or just end it. End it, and everything will be over. Just kill me now. Breathing hurts. Talking hurts. Crying hurts. Living hurts. Why couldn’t you have just ended it when you tossed me back in?

Fuck Life.

 If you've actually read this to the end, I'm surprised. This is me just ranting out my feelings. This is what the mind of one suicidal psycho girl is like. I have to keep up a strong front though. I have so many people depending on me that I don't feel I can bear. Life is a bitch. Life is horrible. If you have people you need to help, to hold, to be there for, be there for them. Take care of them. Hold that life that is in your hands preciously. I'm torn between dying and letting go, or helping out the people who need help more than me. There are people there that I know would be hurt if I gave up, so I'm holding on still for them. Not for me anymore. It hurts too much to hold on for me. So this is a goodbye. Or a hello. I'm not sure anymore.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.05.2017

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