If you want to kill yourself, kill what you don’t like. I had an old self that I killed. You can kill yourself too, but that doesn’t mean you got to stop living. Archie’s Final Project. Dir. David Lee Miller. (via wordsnquotes)

(via blondiel0x)

The second time I overdosed,
my body couldn’t handle it,
and I threw it all up.
I texted my dad saying,
“I think I took a little too many pills”.

And every time I’ve overdosed,
I always downplay it.
I’ve always tried to act
like it wasn’t a big deal.

That having the urge to swallow a whole bottle of pills
was something daily that normal people do.
My dad hurried home and saw the empty bottle
and he shook me to make sure I was awake.
I kept mumbling “I threw it up.. I threw it up..”
while I was drifting off to sleep.
He had to wake me up every 15 minutes
to make sure I was okay.

Let me tell you now,
it is a big deal.

The third time I overdosed,
I slept through first and second period
and passed out in the counselor’s office.
I didn’t want to go to the ER.
I just wanted to go home.
All I wanted to do was sleep.
Again, I just said,
“I think I took too many pills this morning.”

The fifth time I overdosed,
my dad found the empty pill box.
I hallucinated, I had a fever.
I couldn’t move my legs.
All I could do was scream,
“Don’t take me to the hospital this time.
I don’t want to go!”

I became friends with a girl who had overdosed
she’s one of my best friends now
and when I heard she was hospitalized as well,
it just makes me realize how real this problem is.

A couple months ago, another friend of mine overdosed.
Do you realize how fucked up it is,
that I’ve done it so many times
that I know the exact procedure that she’s going to go through?
She messaged me saying,
“I took a bunch of pills,
but I just realized I didn’t want to die.
I don’t know what to do.
Help.”

And I’m screaming at her over the screen
that she should throw it up and call 911
because sometimes when someone you love
decides that they hate the world,
that’s all you can do.
You can’t teleport through the phone.
You can’t travel through the internet.
You can’t be there to hold them
and take them to the hospital.

Your love is not charcoal that can
absorb all their poison in their life.
I know, love that you would have done all you could.
Sometimes words aren’t enough.
Sometimes love isn’t enough.
Sometimes a person needs to try dying
to know that that’s not really what they want.
There’s nothing you could have done.
You’ve done all you could.
Just keep loving them.

But you see the thing is,
I got lucky.
I’ve made it back from 5 overdoses
without a scratch on me.
But that’s not always the case.
My favorite teacher’s stepdaughter
locked herself in her room and overdosed.

To this day,
her stepmother still has a scar on her heart.
To this day,
on the anniversary of her death,
her stepmother still stays home from school
on the anniversary of her death.
Her sister is in a bad mental state,
and so is her biological mother.
Her family has fallen apart.

You overdose because you think
you will get a peaceful release from death.
It’s not peaceful.
It is not like falling asleep.
It is convulsions, vomiting,
muscle spasms, fevers,
and sharp stomach pains.

An overdose is not instant.

Hollywood has you believing,
that an overdose
is how a lady should exit the world.
As quiet as she came in,
Peaceful and unnoticed.

You will go out kicking and screaming
and wishing you hadn’t taken them.

6:03 p.m. (I think I’m done overdosing)

Dedicated to Rae

- via expresswithsilence

(via perfect)

(via sweetheart-syndrome)

buzzfeed:

You know you’d watch.

(via touchmeordont)

(via dollmouth)

5ft1:

wolfintestine:

Jason Momoa on how he stays in shape. - 1.30.2013 (x)

omg

(via dollmouth)

rundevinrun:

/lies down

(via dollmouth)

I just became a grandfather.

<3

(via dollmouth)

  • person: but what if your parents had aborted YOU
  • me: well okay for starters i wouldn't have been forced to hear that stupid ass comment you just made

(via dollmouth)

I was six when Robert from down the block
pushed me onto a pile of rocks
my mama brushed the dirt off my cheeks,
washed off my bleeding knees
and told me “don’t cry, don’t show
weakness”

and in fifth grade my friend’s cousin passed away and
two days later i overheard some boys
calling her a crybaby

i think maybe i complain a lot about small things
like sore joints or headaches or chapped lips or
how long it is until the next episode of game of thrones
so everyone thinks the only problems in my life
are itty bitty butterflies but

I don’t talk about the bad stuff, you know? I don’t mention
the stuff that’s eating me up, the stuff that makes this skin
feel less like home and more like a prison,
the stuff that’s making my particles disconnect
from one another so i become
atomic dust, i just

i help a lot of people with their burdens, as often as i can
and i know they wouldn’t really mind it if i told them maybe
just a little about how bad it’s getting
but even my closest friends
i never want to bother because i hear their stories
about what they’re carrying and
i don’t want to add to it when they’re sad enough as it is
and when they’re happy, I know exactly
how rare it is for them,
so I don’t want to spoil it

the only thing is
a few days ago, I offered advice to someone who needed a
pick-me-up and she looked me in the eyes and asked
“how is it exactly that you know this stuff”

and I could have unzippered my bones and come
crashing out all over the floor
but instead I shrugged and smiled and said
“That’s what I do. That’s what I’m here for.”

"So, I think I’m depressed. Or burdened. Or something. I just can’t get my shit straight. I am always looking for somebody to fix. Or save. Or shape into a butterfly." /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

(via dollmouth)

touchinthebutts:

Look at his face. He’s so worried that he ruined it and messed up all their hard work and she’s just like ‘Hm, I like it!’ and makes him smile because she loves him. I love this movie.

And then 5 mins later she dies and so do I

(via dollmouth)

(via dollmouth)

(via luxrant)

errancy420:

vee-nus:

ғŗєє ʏọȗŗ ṃıṅԀ…

☯

errancy420:

vee-nus:

ғŗєє ʏọȗŗ ṃıṅԀ…

(via soul--shakedown)

I’m sorry
I’m sorry for shredding you to pieces
when you deserved to be cherished
I’m sorry for the six years of abuse
I put you through and thought that you deserved
For the countless times I deprived you of things you needed because I thought you could survive with out it
For thinking you were meant to please others,
when you’re only purpose was to keep me alive
For the time I should have spent acknowledging the fact that you were already fine as is,
instead of tearing you down
For the amount of times I wished that you could change,
but you weren’t meant to be molded into something else
For the words I carved deep into your bones
that are scarred there for ever
For the time that I made you hide who you were
because I believed the world didn’t want to see you.
For the way I made you feel,
for pushing you too far,
you didn’t have to go that far.
For the way I didn’t recognize your existence
like I pretended you weren’t there,
when you were,
when you were screaming at me to take care of you.
You were not trash,
and I’m sorry for treating you like you were.
You are a universe trapped inside your bones
You are made of the same elements that make up the galaxy
You are stardust and are worth being here just like anything else.
You have life racing through your veins,
pulsing through your body
You have a heart beat begging to be noticed,
pounding in harmony to the sound of life
You have flowers growing in your lungs,
blooming with every breath you take
You have a brain shouting thoughts,
good thoughts, let them be herd
You have a voice that can change the world,
so speak up, you are here,
let them know you are here
You have hands that’ll create anything you wish,
you only have to try.
I’m sorry for ignoring every hint you gave to me,
and thinking you were okay.
This is an apology for the time I spent despising you
This is an apology for destroying you
This is a promise that I’ll spend forever making it up to you.
This is a promise that I’ll love you and take care of you.
This is a promise that I’ll keep you safe
That is a promise

A letter to myself: Carol Shlyakhova (strong-but-breakable)

🌛

(via cosmicwolfmama)

(via dollmouth)