Quotes about suicidal-thoughts

Nobody would commit suicide if the pain of being inside herself, the agony of the sleepless, tortured hours spent watching the world get smaller and uglier, were bearable or could be relieved by other people telling her how they wanted her to feel. A depressed person is selfish because her self, the very core of who she is, will not leave her alone, and she can no more stop thinking about this self and how to escape it than a prisoner held captive by a sadistic serial killer can forget about the

i dreamt that i died. for an instant, all the voices in my head stood calm, and for a moment, my heart stopped panicking, and for once in my whole life, my cheeks dried from all the tears that were falling every night ... i thought to my self: how nice it is to be finally dead, i wish i did it sooner.my brother once told me that people who commit suicide are mostly doing it for attention. that's so wrong. i'm not asking for attention, nor sympathy. when i put that blade on my shaking skin alone

Most of the time, I do not want to die. But I would like to have the means of death within my grasp. I want to feel the luxury of choice, to know the answer to “How do I bear this?” need not always be “Endure.

The whiskey was a good start. I got the idea from Dylan Thomas. He's this poet who drank twenty-one straight whiskeys at the White Horse Tavern in New York and then died on the spot from alcohol poisoning. I've always wanted to hear the bartender's side of the story. What was it like watching this guy drink himself out of here? How did it feel handing him number twenty-one and watching his face crumple up before the fall of the stool? And did he already have number twenty-two poured, waiting for

Suicide. It's something I've been thinking about. Not too seriously, but I have been thinking about it.” That's the note. Word for word. And I know it's word for word because I wrote it dozens of times before delivering it. I'd write it, throw it away, write it, crumple it up, throw it away.But why was I writing it to begin with? I asked myself that question every time I printed the words onto a new sheet of paper. Why was I writing this note? It was a lie. I hadn't been thinking about it. Not r

What if I just want to die?""Then I will be sad and disappointed that you cheated yourself out of your chance at existence. Not all of us have that opportunity, you know, to choose life.

I used to think it utterly normal that I suffered from “suicidal ideation” on an almost daily basis. In other words, for as long as I can remember, the thought of ending my life came to me frequently and obsessively.

You can think about killing yourself a thousand times a day and each time it gets just a little bit more real. But the day you wake up and know beyond the shadow of a doubt you are going to go through with it, that is both the worst and best day of your life. When you accept it you will find it amazing that everything you were thinking about suicide before was wrong. Suddenly you realize suicide is easy and desirable and that brings relief. No one wants to die. The act of dying is horrific but t

Conscience is worse than death, some people commit suicide to evade it.

Suicide is not a choice, it is what is left when everything else fails.

Death is not the end! The exit for the world of mortals is the entrance to the world of immortals!

I personally don't think about jumping because things can't possibly get worse... To the contrary, I contemplate it because I believe things probably will.

Self-slaughter is an extravagant enactment of feeling sorry for oneself. Suicide is stingy act, because no matter how wretched our life may currently be, a person can always rise tomorrow and perform some small act of kindness for other people, care for a pet, or perform some other caring act that works towards preserving nature’s graciousness. To die of their own hand is to cheat other people and shortchange Mother Nature; it is taking without giving back in kind. What combats suicide is a sens

The truth a fairly important thing to hold on to when you’ve been pulled out of the sea after wanting to drown in it. I could’ve let the sea take me. I could easily be dead now, which is funny when you think of it. When I say funny, what I actually mean is weird and kind of disturbing.When there’s the loud sound of a siren screaming in your head it doesn’t take too long before a feeling of not caring what happens washed over you and you become recklessly self- destructive. I used to be full of e

I steered by self as evenly as I could, and it was easier than I thought. My bike and I went shooting off the end, and together we well into the sea that’s cold and huge and doesn’t care whether living boys launch themselves into it or not.

That the very delusion which drove me to a death-loving desperation should so suddenly vanish would seem to indicate that many a suicide might be averted if the person contemplating it could find the proper assistance when such a crisis impends.

To be mad is worse than not to be if this is what it is.

Babies are never suicidal. Hard lives, not hard boiled eggs do that.

I have just now come from a party where I was its life and soul; witticisms streamed from my lips, everyone laughed and admired me, but I went away — yes, the dash should be as long as the radius of the earth's orbit ——————————— and wanted to shoot myself.

I am sorry.I'm sorry that I feel as if you don't trust me enough to confide me. This is me being selfish even though this isn't about me, it's about you. I'm sorry that it makes me upset that in those times you thought about ending your life, I feel like I didn't cross your mind. I hate myself for thinking you didn't care enough to talk to me about those toxic thoughts that's trying to push you to end everything, because I know myself that's it is hard to share.I hate myself for thinking you did

I'm trying to let him know what I'm about to do.I'm hoping he can save me, even though I realize he can't.

I spend a lot of time wondering what dying feels like. What dying sounds like. If I’ll burst like those notes, let out my last cries of pain, and then go silent forever. Or maybe I’ll turn into a shadowy static that’s barely there, if you just listen hard enough.

So ask me if I am alright.'I’m fine; I’m always fine.'You see this look in my eyes.'No, I’m fine. I am always fine.'There is a corpse behind my smile.'Listen, I am fine. Always, always fine as fine can be.''Are you okay?''I am more than okay. I am more than fine. I am wonderful!

How to tell your pretend-boyfriend and his real boyfriend that your internal processors are failing:1. The biological term is depression, but you don't have an official diagnostic (diagnosis) and it's a hard word to say. It feels heavy and stings your mouth. Like when you tried to eat a battery when you were small and your parents got upset.2. Instead, you try to hide the feeling. But the dark stain has already spilled across your hardwiring and clogged your processor. You don't have access to a

Those drugs were either going to bring me nirvana or they were going to kill me. I was sure of it. And I was comfortable with it.

In my room, in the dark, I understood what I never had before, what no one else seemed to. I understood how a boy could go into the woods with a bullet and a gun and not come out. That there was no conspiracy, no evil influences or secret rituals; that sometimes there was only pain and the need to make it stop.

What would I put in my bottom drawer? – I would put only sharp objects, the clean lines of broken glass, the honed steel of paring knives, the tiny saw-teeth of bread knives and the soothing edges of razor blades, I weigh knives in my hands like strange comforters.

To all who struggle with depression or suicidal thoughts: you are not alone. we are all on this journey together. I promise you that there is hope. Let us reach out to one another and walk together in the sunlight.

We all handle loss in our individual ways, grieve in all kinds of ways. We all go through feeling okay sometimes, but other times, we feel so bad we hurt ourselves or those around us.

Even the people who once fought for others tend to get weak and eventually "give up" and lose interest in the worth of fighting any longer.

I don't know and I don't care anymore. I was supposed to have my way for once, just once in my life. I did everything right and I got nothing for it.I want to kill them all. no, better yet, I want to die. No, even bettter than that: I want to kill them all then die.

I’ve given up already in life but something or someone keep pushing me to keep going.

But first you have to fight, to try other ways. If your life displeases you, my lad, try to change it. Don't give in to defeat so easily. Death is the only sure defeat. It is the end of everything.

Maybe I should drown myself before I freeze to death?

You have no right to kill others. Then how can you have a right to kill yourself?

Suddenly, I viddied what I had to do, and that was to do myself in; to snuff it, to blast off forever out of this wicked, cruel world. One moment of pain perhaps and, then, sleep forever, and ever and ever.

A broken shoelace can strangle me.

Sons of suicides seldom do well. Characteristically, they find life lacking a certain zing. They tend to feel more rootless than most, even in a notoriously rootless nation. They are squeamishly incurious about the past and numbly certain about the future to this grisly extent: they suspect that they, too, will kill themselves.

Using Pain To Relieve Pain. Doesn't Make Much Sense. But It Works.

After each dream, Frankie woke with a start, soaked in tears. But she found no relief in the peaceful silence of her room, because there everything was real. And the guilt was too immense to bear. Each time she opened her eyes, she'd quickly shut them. And wish that she had woken up for the very last time.

Killing yourself slowly is still killing yourself. Wanting to die is not the same as wanting to come home. Recovery is hard work. Not wanting to die is hard work.

The fear of not living is a deep, abiding dread of watching your own potential decompose into irredeemable disappointment when 'should be' gets crushed by what is. Sometimes I think it would be easier to die than to face that, because 'what could have been' is much more highly regarded than 'what should have been.' Dead kids are put on pedestals, but mentally ill kids get hidden under the rug.

Throughout the years I learned the good times must come to an end, all the bad times will get worse, and most recently I learned I have PTSD. Ileft a part of myself in that river, in that battlefield, in every tragedy. A couple thousand years of this and there is not much left. I never escaped that river. I am drowning in a sea of tragedy.A woman was standing in front of me. She smiled. “The psychiatrist is ready to see you.

For as long I can remember I have wanted to die. So that started around age 6. I think. My earliest clear memories start at age 140.

Sometimes you feel fragile for a few days. Don't let the PaperTigers scare you you will bounce back & be brave again.From book: stuff i think aboutby sondra faye

I do not laugh I do not cryI'm sweating out the will to die.My past is sliding down the drainI soon will be myself again.