The day was good. I think it was Friday, or perhaps Thursday, but either way, the whole day was amazing... Until the very end. The bell had rung and I was walking to the stairs when I heard a guy from my grade (he was on the bench in the Senior section upstairs) exclaim, "I'm gonna jump!" Now, that bit freaked me out and I turned, but he got down off that bench and he laughed. That fucking asshole laughed. Sure, let's all just make suicide jokes 'cause taking your life is totally a laughing matter!
I wanted to punch him. More than that, I want to hit him so hard his great-grandchildren would feel it and then yell at him so loud the whole fucking school heard all about what he did and why you just don't joke about that! But I didn't. No, I ran down those stairs as fast as I could and speed-walked out the front doors of the school in an angry, short-tempered huff, almost every possible emotion raining down on me.
Maybe I overreacted and am still. Maybe I should just chill out. But I'm not going to, and why am I not going to? Because I have personal experience! I was depressed for a very long time, or so it felt like (2-ish years), I did think about suicide during those two-ish years, and ya know what? I walked over a bridge a bit of those two-ish years, looking down at the water below, contemplating, and telling myself no. If I had seen the dumbass joke about it during those years, I would probably have stopped saying no.
I almost lost two friends last year to suicide. Ah, the other end of the personal experience. How fucking scared and worried and upset do you think I was when one of them wasn't in school for a week after leaving school because she'd taken so many pills? How do you think I felt when I got to school on a Monday and the other looked like someone had run her over fifty times and then pieced her back together and she told me she'd attempted again for the fourth time. Suicide and the idea of it and the knowledge that yeah, it's fucking permanent is nothing new to me. Hasn't been for a long time, but apparently there are still some SOBs that don't seem to realize that it isn't something to joke about.
I haven't talked to the "other one" in four months. I was so emotional for no reason last night and I finally figured out that it was because this idiot had brought up memories and thoughts and shit that I didn't want to think about, but ended up doing so anyway. It was because I was thinking of Trixi and wondering if she was okay and wondering if she hates me now and wondering if she's getting better that I wanted to fucking cry last night.
Just to close this because I really can't write any more...This goes to all the idiots that love to joke... Suicide is permanent. It is somebody deciding that it's just not worth it to fight anymore, or somebody who's just too tired to fight anymore, or somebody who's just too numb to care... giving up their life. Dying. Death. Leaving this world and knowing or hoping there's one afterward, a better one. Depression is a giant pit that you fall to the bottom of, trying to climb out and when you finally think you're reaching the top and escaping, you slip and you fall back down. It is sludge up to your upper lip, trudging through it one step a day, and if you stop, you sink more, until you are finally lost. Cutting is not just getting attention, it's not laughable, it's not a joke. Every time you do so, you run the risk of cutting too deep or hitting something vital. Every time you do so, you run the risk of dying. It is pain release or a way to feel something more than nothing. Anorexia Nervosa and Bulimia are not jokes either. They are not just "fat" girls trying to become skinny, they are everyday girls thinking, believing, they are ugly. They are control. They are coping mechanisms, even. They are deadly. Everything you joke about is deadly- why? Why do you joke about these things? They kill, you fuckers! They kill! None of this is something to laugh about or gossip about or joke about or just fucking ignore!
I got home and I wanted to both punch the wall, breaking something in the process, and curl into a ball on my floor, crying. I didn't, but I wanted to. It really makes me wonder, when people joke...
Doesn't anybody care?
I wanted to punch him. More than that, I want to hit him so hard his great-grandchildren would feel it and then yell at him so loud the whole fucking school heard all about what he did and why you just don't joke about that! But I didn't. No, I ran down those stairs as fast as I could and speed-walked out the front doors of the school in an angry, short-tempered huff, almost every possible emotion raining down on me.
Maybe I overreacted and am still. Maybe I should just chill out. But I'm not going to, and why am I not going to? Because I have personal experience! I was depressed for a very long time, or so it felt like (2-ish years), I did think about suicide during those two-ish years, and ya know what? I walked over a bridge a bit of those two-ish years, looking down at the water below, contemplating, and telling myself no. If I had seen the dumbass joke about it during those years, I would probably have stopped saying no.
I almost lost two friends last year to suicide. Ah, the other end of the personal experience. How fucking scared and worried and upset do you think I was when one of them wasn't in school for a week after leaving school because she'd taken so many pills? How do you think I felt when I got to school on a Monday and the other looked like someone had run her over fifty times and then pieced her back together and she told me she'd attempted again for the fourth time. Suicide and the idea of it and the knowledge that yeah, it's fucking permanent is nothing new to me. Hasn't been for a long time, but apparently there are still some SOBs that don't seem to realize that it isn't something to joke about.
I haven't talked to the "other one" in four months. I was so emotional for no reason last night and I finally figured out that it was because this idiot had brought up memories and thoughts and shit that I didn't want to think about, but ended up doing so anyway. It was because I was thinking of Trixi and wondering if she was okay and wondering if she hates me now and wondering if she's getting better that I wanted to fucking cry last night.
Just to close this because I really can't write any more...This goes to all the idiots that love to joke... Suicide is permanent. It is somebody deciding that it's just not worth it to fight anymore, or somebody who's just too tired to fight anymore, or somebody who's just too numb to care... giving up their life. Dying. Death. Leaving this world and knowing or hoping there's one afterward, a better one. Depression is a giant pit that you fall to the bottom of, trying to climb out and when you finally think you're reaching the top and escaping, you slip and you fall back down. It is sludge up to your upper lip, trudging through it one step a day, and if you stop, you sink more, until you are finally lost. Cutting is not just getting attention, it's not laughable, it's not a joke. Every time you do so, you run the risk of cutting too deep or hitting something vital. Every time you do so, you run the risk of dying. It is pain release or a way to feel something more than nothing. Anorexia Nervosa and Bulimia are not jokes either. They are not just "fat" girls trying to become skinny, they are everyday girls thinking, believing, they are ugly. They are control. They are coping mechanisms, even. They are deadly. Everything you joke about is deadly- why? Why do you joke about these things? They kill, you fuckers! They kill! None of this is something to laugh about or gossip about or joke about or just fucking ignore!
I got home and I wanted to both punch the wall, breaking something in the process, and curl into a ball on my floor, crying. I didn't, but I wanted to. It really makes me wonder, when people joke...
Doesn't anybody care?
