It’s hard because life goes on with or without you.
I love you
Many a times creative souls have misguidedly romanticized mental illness – Adult critics who have declared Sylvia Plath’s poetry genius owing to her mental affliction and personal tragedies, young writers unable to separate the ‘coolness’ of Bukowski’s alcoholic crutch from his literary talents.
Some called it snorkeling, some called it scuba diving but it didn’t matter, they were the same thing… killing yourself to live.
I didn’t want to believe this shit, but the ceiling shuddered again and I had become a little bit more open to crazy ideas at this point.
I know where you’re at, the lowest point you have ever been. I know how you feel, like you are worthless, a burden, like there’s no hope, and that you’d be better off dead. Please, before you take that final step, take a minute to read my story.
Molly didn’t much care for ink or piercings, but she did have one tattoo. A small one, and it was almost never visible. It was on her back, just a few inches below her neck. A tiny keyhole, no embellishments, no nothing.
As I sat in the hospital room, Tara was lying in the bed, tubes in her arm and my heart was breaking. The strongest person I knew gave up on herself and I could only wonder what I could have done better.
We are from the same place, but we’re both gone from there now. The place defined by it’s proximity to better places, a nameless suburb shoved between the wealthy ones on the lake and the skyline that gives it value.
Growing up, it hung as a shadow over my head. Mostly because my parents were always afraid that it was going to happen to me, or my little brother, Max. Of course, with my morose disposition and general introversion, I suppose I was the greater concern.