There's a tweet going around that says "mentally ill people need more from you than tweeting out the suicide hotline number every time a famous person kills themselves" fuck them.
Fuck the OP of that tweet that thinks they came up with a great thing to say. From a person who has sever depression with sducidal tendencies I appreciate you for sending that out. I appreciate that it crossed your mind to send this reminder that I'm not alone.
And I'll be honest. When I'm in a dark place with tears streaming down my face and the sobs wrack my body, that isn't going to help me. But here's a secret. Nothing is. When I got that point it's me that has to bring myself back from it.
When I'm left alone for more than 15 seconds my mind wanders to death. I'm not sure why. My doctors monitor me closely. My friends and family try and look out for me. But it doesn't change the fact that at least 10 times a day I think I'm not worth life. I'm not worth space on this planet and I want to die.
And as long as I can survive those moments I'm okay. I'll make it. Sometimes they seem worse. Sometimes I find myself in the kitchen looking at the knife drawer. Sometimes I find myself with a bottle of pills. Sometimes when I'm driving I wonder how painful it would be to hit a barrier and end it.
Saying this to all of you makes me realize how fucked up it is. But that won't change anything at 1am when the world is quiet and Im trying to figure out what good thing I'm supposed to bring to the table. At 10am when I still haven't slept for the night and I would give anything for just a little rest. At 3pm when everyone I know is working, and the thoughts creep into my mind as I try, pointlessly, to fight them off. At 8:45pm when I've finished dinner and am wondering if this is it. This is what my life has amounted too.
But if I see someone post up that number. At least for a moment. I know someone has thought, hey this could help someone. This may make a difference. And that makes a difference to me. Maybe I won't be able to stop the tornado of thoughts from coming. The ones that try and make me believe that I'm not important. But maybe I'll remember the number and call it.
Believe it or not I'm terrified of googling that number. What if I do end it. And that's in my search history. For some reason I find that more embarrassing, more disgusting than anything else I've done. Go figure.
He will walk in and not notice the drying tears down my temples. She will reply to text that I've sent with an obviously coded message that I'm hoping she sees as my plea for help. I wrote out "love" do I ever do that?! Doesn't that show you I need help?! Cant you see I'm dying to live and living to die.
Often I fantasies about the perfect death. How fucked up is that. I don't want to hurt others by killing myself. I just desperately want the thoughts to stop.
So please. Tweet. Facebook. Instagram that hotline number. You have no idea who you may help to step back from that edge. Who you may save just because you copy and pasted a number. Who you maybe responsible for saving when they couldn't save themselves.